Template of a Hero
by HelloMyNameIsEd
Summary: The Dragonborn is thought to be what every good Nord should be. What happens when the fabled hero of Nordic legend is actually the farthest possible thing from a Nord? The Dragonborn must learn to survive in this harsh land, where he finds friends, assassins, his true nature, and more. Go to the link on my profile page to see a pic of the Dragonborn! Rated T for violence/swearing.
1. The Truth Dawns in Fire

**A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to my first Elder Scrolls fic! I hope you will enjoy this story if you decide to follow it. A lot of people have posted Elder Scrolls fics about the Dragonborn's adventures, but this one is different, I promise. You'll see...**

It is the 202nd year of the 4th Era in the land of Tamriel. 8 provinces divide the continent: Valenwood, Daggerfall, Hammerfell, Black Marsh, Elsweyr, Cyrodiil, Morrowind, and Skyrim. The land of Skyrim, home of the Nords, and the northernmost province of the continent, is possibly one of the most mysterious, and dangerous. Skyrim is a land where cold is always prominent, and the conditions are almost always harsh. There are many creatures that inhabit this harsh land, many of them, dangerous. Frost trolls, giants, saber cats, and even mammoths roam these landscapes. However, they stray away from Skyrim's towns and cities, usually. Larger cities dot the maps, while smaller towns also appear scattered along the landscape.

All in all, Skyrim, while a harsh and unforgiving land, and has its own share of wild and untamed beauty; the majestic snow-capped mountain peaks look over the entire lands, visible even in the greatest of distances, especially the Throat of the World, Skyrim's tallest mountain. But the entire land isn't snowy either. Whiterun's rolling plains and rippling streams run throughout the land, and the rocky cliffs and crevices of The Reach in Skyrim's west are also a sight to behold. Temperate forest lines Skyrim's southern border, where green pines reach up high into the sky, small specks of white frost occasionally hanging onto their branches. Deer frolic and graze the grass, while birds perch on the trees and chirp.

A heavy, black smoke hangs in the air, visible from afar. There are usually hunters who do their runs around this area, but this smoke is too large, too thick to have come from a simple campfire. This was a town fire. Helgen, a small town in Falkreath Hold, in Skyrim's south, was ablaze. The entire town's structures were made of wood or stone, allowing the fires to consume almost anything in its path. The wood was either burning or already burnt to a charred black color, and the stone structures were broken in several different places, the tower having large holes in it. The residents were mostly dead, killed off mercilessly by a terrible enemy. Soldiers and townspeople, men, women, and children alike, could be seen as charred, burnt corpses. Arrows could be seen embedded on the walls, in places such as on a high wall, or against the top of the tower, as if trying to shoot something out of the sky. This had to have been an invasion, because only a siege engine such as a catapult could create holes in a stone tower, or destroy all of a town's guard force. This had to have been part of the civil war that was raging in Skyrim, right?

If only the inhabitants were so lucky.

A monstrous roar, unlike any kind of bear or saber cat, shattered the airwaves, fearsome enough to strike fear into the hearts of even the most hardened warriors. It was not the roar of any animal that was native to Skyrim. Surely enough, the origin of the roar could be seen flying overhead, in the form of a giant, fearsome dragon. It was black as the night, and its eyes were like rubies, blood-red, and with a death threat in every glance. Its giant, bat-like wings carried its massive body through the air, despite the beast weighing more than a team of horses and their riders.

The dragon scanned the burning town as it circled overhead. Finally being satisfied with its destruction, the dragon gave out one last roar of satisfaction, and flapped its great wings, propelling its body away from the town. There were no more screams from the townspeople, or their guards. The only sound that could be heard was the dragon roaring in the distance, slowly flying out of view. The town was still burning, but the fires would die down when the wood ran out, or some other natural occurrence would end it; nobody was left alive to go ask for aid, not that there was anything left in the town to save anymore.

However, in the distance, away from the burning city, was a cavern entrance that came from Helgen's underground cave system. A man was crouched low to the ground near the exit of the cave, alert, all senses on end. The man was of Nordic origin, with dirty blond hair that brushed his shoulders, and a braid on his left side. His pale skin contrasted against his armor; he wore a brown cuirass with short chain mail arm sleeves, and a blue cloth wrapped around his torso, a sign of where his loyalty lied in regard to the Civil War, to the Stormcloaks. Blood, dirt, and ash stained his armor; he was a survivor of the attack on Helgen. His blue eyes scanned the skies, where the dragon had just disappeared from. The dragon had finally gone, and he sighed.

"Looks like he's gone for good this time," said the Nord, apparently speaking to nobody in particular. "This place will be crawling with Imperials soon enough. I'd rather not stick around here too long."

"Then let's get out of here," said a low voice. The voice's accent was Cyrodillic, the owner obviously not hailing from Skyrim. The voice, however, did't even sound human. The owner's form could be seen in the shadows inside the cave, just behind the Nord man, who turned to the voice.

"My name is Ralof, but I'm sure that you already heard that. What did you say your name was? I didn't quite catch it," said the Nord.

The owner of the voice hesitated, as if wondering if telling this stranger his name was worth it, before finally answering: "Archer". The man stepped out of the shadows, where his features could finally be seen clearly in the mid-day sunlight. Surely enough, the man wasn't a Nord. In truth, he wasn't even a human, or an elf. He was an Argonian.

Argonians were the inhabitants of Black Marsh, the southernmost land in Tamriel, full of humid marshes and swamps. His kind had adapted to the less-than-hospitable environment, being cold-blooded and having scales. People oftentimes associated Argonians with lizards, unsurprising given their similarity in some external features. Argonians are one of the Beast races of Tamriel, the other being cat-people called Khajiit, both of which are usually disliked by Tamriel's numerous racists. Even the Orcs, who looked like men but had green skin and two tusks jutting out from their lower jaw, were considered to be beasts by some.

This Argonian had dark green scales all over his body. He had two horns on the back of his head that resembled dragon horns, and several smaller horns that lined his eye ridges, resembling human eyebrows. Dark red war paint went over his eyes, which themselves were a striking golden color. His eyes were accentuated by the war paint, making them seem to almost glow, and making him look fierce. He wore the standard-issue studded Imperial armor, a combination of leather and chain mail, but he wasn't an Imperial Soldier. A longbow was slung across his back, along with a quiver of iron arrows. A simple iron sword was strapped to his side, as well as an iron dagger.

The Nord man looked at him oddly. "That's…not an Argonian name, as far as I'm sure of." In truth, Argonians had their own language named after their religious entity, the Hist, but their names were typically translated into Cyrodillic for the convenience of those who did not speak their language, being mostly anyone who wasn't Argonian.

The Argonian scowled at him, and said, "You asked me my name, and you got an answer. Are we just going to stand here while that dragon could still come back?"

Ralof decided not to prod the Argonian any further, and decided to walk ahead. Archer followed him closely behind, still looking around, observing his surroundings. Snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, and pine trees surrounded them as far as he could see. If he had not been in Helgen when the dragon had attacked, he would never have guessed that this was the place where a small town was turned into a giant, smoldering mass funeral pyre. The people had been slaughtered mercilessly, having been crushed by falling debris, bitten in two, or, as was the most common form of death, burned to a crisp by the dragon's fire breath.

Ralof spoke up again: "The closest town from here is Riverwood. My sister, Gerdur, runs the mill over there. I'm sure that she'll help us out."

With the promise of aid and supplies, how could Archer disagree? Right now, the first thing he wanted to do was to jump straight into a pool of water and wash off. However, given that Skyrim was so far north, almost any water source he'd come across would be cold as well, something that his cold-blooded body would not appreciate at all. The idea would have to hang on until they made it to somewhere warmer, or to a nearby inn.

Ralof broke out into a jog, and Archer followed him closely. They were still in the woods, and he knew very well that wolves liked these kinds of areas; thick with vegetation, hard to maneuver…as long as they stayed on the road, they should be safe enough. At least, safer than having to run right through the forest. Archer groaned; so far, his first visit to Skyrim had been very unpleasant, leaving the Argonian in a somewhat irritable mood. Then again, having been knocked unconscious and stripped off all of one's belongings before being sent to get his head chopped off was never a pleasant experience. The road began to descend downwards, and then turned to the left, on the side of a large rocky hill.

"Look there," said Ralof, pointing to a group of three stones, arranged in a circular formation. "These are the guardian stones, three of the thirteen standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. Legend has it that they'll give you a blessing."

"Blessing? That's nonsense," said Archer, looking at the stones. They were just rocks with designs carved into them; how could they be special in any way?

"See for yourself," said Ralof. Archer walked up to the stones, determined to prove the man wrong. He looked at the three, and noticed that they each had the three of the birth signs, constellations that were believed to determine the fates and personality of the person who is born when the constellation is present. The first one he inspected, the rightmost one, had the sign of the warrior, a man in Heavy Armor who sported a large axe. The next one, the one in the center, had the sign of the mage, a man wearing flowing robes and holding a staff. The last one, the leftmost stone, had the sign of the thief on it, a man with a hood who held a dagger in one hand, and a bag of coins in the other.

Archer leaned forward and touched the Thief stone, wondering how to "activate" the stone. Immediately, the stone's carving began to glow, outlining the constellation of the thief upon it, and a bright blue light shot out from the top of the stone. The light beam went high, high, high up into the sky, until it couldn't be seen anymore. Archer was surprised at the stone's reaction to his touch. He turned around, and saw Ralof smirking with satisfaction, as if having seen this before.

"What do you have to say about that, hm?" said Ralof, turning to walk towards Riverwood.

"I am _not_ a lowly _thief_," Archer said, and began to walk alongside Ralof.

"I still can't believe it; a dragon, here! In Skyrim! I thought they were just part of children's stories and legends," Ralof said, shaking his head, a hand on it, as if trying to keep in all the information that he had just seen into his head. In truth, dragons were not part of normal nature; they hadn't been seen in all of Tamriel for the longest of times, ever since the legendary Dragon Wars, where the Ancient Nords of olden times managed to drive them back and kill them all.

"Obviously, it's not a legend, because I've never seen a legend bite a man in half," Archer said dryly.

Ralof didn't say anything else after that. Naturally, after having been in a near-death experience, people don't usually tend to be in a good mood. Ralof decided that he shouldn't try to aggravate Archer any further; they'd both been through some serious situations back there, it'd be enough to affect the most even-tempered people. He just hoped that Archer would cool down by the time they had gotten to Riverwood.

* * *

"There's Riverwood," said Ralof, looking at a small town down the road a distance. "Let's get moving," he said. Archer wordlessly walked alongside the Nord, taking in the sights before him. The land had turned from a white winter atmosphere to a less snowy environment; the trees still had snow on them, but the fine sheet of white stuff he disliked wasn't on the floor anymore, to the point that he could actually see the brown dirt underneath. They continued walking down the road, the town getting closer.

However, then they heard a low growling sound. Archer spun around, and was faced with two wolves. The beasts snarled at them, their teeth bared and dripping with saliva, harnessing enough power to easily crush a man's wrist or windpipe like dough. They were not to be underestimated. He saw Ralof take out a war axe, ready to fight. The wolves growled once, and charged. They were too close to use a bow; Archer took out the Iron sword at his side, and raised it to swing at the feral beast. The wolf, however, had other plans in mind, as it pounced on Archer, forcing him to drop his sword.

Archer didn't have time to reach for the iron dagger at his side, and instead, his hands flew forwards, towards the wolf's neck, to catch its neck before it could sink its fangs into his throat. The beast was strong, and relentlessly snapped at him, the saliva dripping onto Archer's armor. Archer dug his claws into the animal's neck, hoping to get it off of him. The beast would not back off just yet, and kept snapping and growling at him, getting closer to him. He dug his claws even deeper into the animal's neck, causing it to back off. It gave him just enough distance to be able to send his armored boots to the animal's chest, kicking it with both legs, like a mule. It worked, and the wolf was sent reeling back. Archer's hand flew to the iron dagger at his side, and he raised it into the air while he bent forwards. He stabbed downwards with the dagger just as the wolf turned its head to bite at him again. Sticky red blood poured out from its head as the dog whimpered in pain. He grunted, and twisted the dagger, until the animal's body went limp. He withdrew his dagger from the animal's head, the entire dagger coated with the disgusting red stuff, and sheathed it after a moment's hesitation. Ralof walked up to him, a fresh wound on his wolf's neck from his war axe.

"Nothing like a good fight to get you going, right?" asked Ralof, patting Archer on the back. Archer just eyed the corpses, and they walked the short distance to Riverwood.

Riverwood was a small, quiet town, Archer observed. There were several small, wooden houses with thatched roofs and cobblestone pathways leading around the small town. A young boy was playing with a large wolfhound, who bounded happily alongside its tiny master, and an old lady was standing outside her home, pointing towards where Helgen - or better said, what was left of Helgen- was, shouting about how she saw a dragon flying through the air. Archer followed Ralof to a large wooden lumber mill. A large saw was placed next to a large pile of lumber, where a Nord man was hauling a large piece of lumber onto the saw blade. None of these people looked capable of defending themselves. Upon further inspection, he noticed that there wasn't a single guard in the entire town; this place could easily be burned down by the dragon if it decided to come here, he thought.

"Looks like nobody knows about what happened to Helgen yet. Come on, Gerdur will probably be working at the lumber mill at this time," said Ralof. Archer followed him, getting strange glances from some of the town's inhabitants. They walked around the large mill, which was placed right next to the flowing river that was where the town probably got its name.

"Hello, Gerdur," said Ralof, a warm smile on his face. Archer's attention was turned to a Nord woman with blond hair and blue eyes, just like her brother, who was hunched over a working table. She wore a plain green cloth dress, with a white undershirt, and had some dirt on her face, probably from working. She turned completely towards them, and her eyes went wide at seeing them; probably from seeing her brother covered in blood, sweat, and ash, but maybe it was from seeing the Argonian wearing Imperial armor standing next to him.

"Gods, Ralof, it's good to see you again. Is it safe for you to be here? I heard that your unit had been captured. Are you hurt?" she asked, concerned.

"Gerdur, I'm fine. At least now I am," Ralof said.

"What happened to you? And who's this? One of your comrades?" she asked, motioning towards Archer.

"Not a comrade yet, but a friend. We escaped the Imperials together," said Ralof. Archer merely looked at him, feeling the need to object; he still didn't really consider Ralof a "friend", but at this point, he supposed there was no harm in letting the man think what he wanted.

"I need to tell you something, though. Something important," Ralof restated, more firmly this time.

"Of course. Hod, come down here." Gerdur called out to the Nord who was working at the giant saw.

"What is it, Gerdur? Is Sven drunk on the job again?" asked the Nord. Archer snorted; getting intoxicated what what a Nord could do best, he had heard his father say. But it was a joke, of course; his father was never a racist man, no. He was a good man, who took good care of his son. Right about now, Archer was starting to regret leaving his parents, and coming to Skyrim. At least now, he thought, he had his moment of peace.

"Just get down here," said Gerdur, a more strict tone of voice now being used. The Nord man finally looked down, and his eyes went wide when they focused on the Stormcloak soldier with blood spattered all over his body.

"Ralof? What is going on here?" asked the Nord man named Hod. The Nord man began to walk down to their level. The three walked over next to a large tree stump, and a young boy ran up to Ralof, the same one who was playing with the large dog.

"Uncle Ralof!" said the boy, who finally stopped in front of Ralof. "You're back! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have yo-" the boy went silent, his face showing shock as he finally saw Archer.

"Uncle Ralof! It's an Imperial! Kill him!" said the boy, stepping backwards. Archer was immediately alert, looking around, trying to see if he could see the Imperial soldier. Ralof looked at the boy questioningly, then back to Archer. He grinned, and then turned to the boy.

"Lad, he's not an Imperial soldier," Ralof chuckled, "he's a friend. Don't worry, he's not on their side."

The boy looked at Archer, and then back to Ralof, obviously very confused. The Argonian man was wearing studded Imperial armor, which was strictly militarily-distributed only. Only an Imperial soldier could wear it, or certain kinds of guards.

"But…his armor-"

"He had to get it out of a chest when we were escaping. He did't much like the idea of taking the armor off a dead soldier," said Ralof, glancing over at Archer. "But I don't blame him, neither would I."

The boy seemed to calm down, and Hod finally walked over.

"Why don't you watch the road, in case any _real_ Imperials come by?" asked Ralof. The boy smiled, and eagerly ran over to the road they had come from.

Gerdur was the first to speak: "Ralof, what's going on here? Why do you two look like this?"

Ralof sighed, and sat down, saying "I don't know where to start. We were going by Darkwater crossing. That was…two days now, I think. I can barely remember the last time I slept."

Archer sat down next to him, feeling tired as well. He probably hadn't gone through what this man had, but Archer was also captured by the Imperials for crossing the border, conveniently being where Ralof and the rest of his men were when they got captured. Without even questioning him, they knocked him unconscious and put him on the prisoner's cart. They even took his clothes, and he was left with only a ragged tunic and foot wraps to wear. He'd have to remember to buy some new clothes later.

Ralof continued his story: "We were captured, along with Ulfric Stormcloak, and sent to Helgen to be executed. But then, all of a sudden, we were attacked…" Ralof looked around, observing each face when he said the last three words: "…by a Dragon."

Gerdur's and Hod's eyes went wide instantly. Hod's mouth opened, but it remained so, leaving him gaping in shock. Gerdur, however, recollected herself quickly.

"You don't mean a real, live…? It can't be! Although," she said, putting her hand on her chin, as if deep in thought, "that would explain what I saw earlier, flying over the Barrow."

"I can't believe it," said Hod. "You're not drunk, are you, boy?"

Ralof put his hands to his head, and sighed, saying "I wish I could say yes to that, but there's no doubt that what I saw was a dragon."

He then raised his head, and said, "I wouldn't have made it out of there alive, if it hadn't been for him," he said, motioning to Archer.

"Really now?" said Gerdur, inspecting the Argonian. Archer simply shrugged off their stares. He was used to being stared at by strangers, they didn't bother him anymore.

"You bet," continued Ralof. "He's not the best at sword fighting. I actually think he's better when he's _not_ using a weapon."

"Then, how did he save you?" asked Hod, glaring at Archer. Typical that one thing that most, if not all, Nords respected was someone who had a good sword arm. Archer knew that they might judge him simply for not being good at sword fighting. It wasn't his fault though; he didn't anticipate being bagged and dragged to an execution.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Ralof said apologetically, "What I meant to say was: He knows how to fight _with_ a sword, but he's amazing without one. There was this one Imperial who managed to disarm him. I couldn't help him, I was busy fighting my own battle, but I saw the Imperial charge at him, sword raised up high. What happened next, though, shocked me: he grabbed the man's wrist in mid-swing, and disarmed him with his bare hands! He used the Imperial's own sword to kill him, that was the best part. The milk-drinker was too baffled to know what had just happened!"

"He disarmed a man barehanded? I haven't seen anyone do that before," said Hod.

"We escaped Helgen by going through the underground tunnels. Has anyone else come up from the South road?" asked Ralof.

"No," Gerdur said, "nobody has gone through here all day. You two are the first ones."

Ralof looked down, his elbows resting on his knees, and said "I guess, we're the only ones who made it, then." His voice was solemn, and low. He was probably thinking of his comrades, who were possibly all dead by now, or his Jarl, whose name Archer had forgotten. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy towards him, having possibly lost all his comrades in that town. Archer didn't know what it felt like to lose a comrade, or even a friend, but he could imagine.

"I'm sure that they'll rest easy in Sovengarde," said Ralof. "Gerdur," he added, raising his head to look at his sister, "I was wondering if we could stay with you for a while. You know, to rest, resupply, those sort of things." Gerdur smiled at them.

"Of course," she said. "I'll be happy to help you two in any way you need."

"I'll take them in the house and, you know, show them around," said Hod. It seemed that the Nord man had gotten quickly trusting of him, Archer thought. He was only glad that he could finally rest in a real bed. His stomach growled softly, reminding him of his duties to fulfill his basic bodily needs. When was the last time he had eaten?

"You mean help them drink up all our mead," Gerdur said. Ralof and Hod began to walk back to the town, towards a small house in the back end of the town. Archer walked up to Gerdur.

"Thank you for helping us…for helping _me_," said Archer. Gerdur simply smiled.

"Like I said, If there's anything you need, just let me know. You did help my brother escape, after all," said Gerdur.

"I suppose," said Archer. Gerdur handed him something: a key.

"This is a key to our house," she said, gesturing towards the house that Hod and Ralof were entering currently. "If there's anything you need, just let me know." Archer looked up, back to her.

"I don't plan on staying very long, I don't wish to be a burden," Archer said. "You've done so much for me, If there's anything I could do for _you_, then I'll be happy to help." Gerdur seemed to go into thought for a moment. Archer then began to turn and walk towards the house.

"Actually," he heard her say. Archer turned to Gerdur. "There _is_ something that you could do for us," she said.

"What is it?" asked Archer. She simply shook her head.

"Ill tell you later, right now, you should rest. If you need to buy some supplies, then you could go to our trader, in that store," she said, pointing to a two-story wooden structure a few yards away. Archer decided to go there first. He had picked up a few things that he might be able to sell nicely.

"Well, I've got some stuff that I should probably sell off," Archer said. He then changed his course so that he walked in to the Riverwood trader. Immediately upon entering, he heard the sounds of two people arguing: a man behind the counter, and a woman.

"…Well one of us has to do something!" said the woman.

"I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!" said the man.

"Then what's your plan then, hm?" asked the woman, her hands at her hips. Archer looked between the two, both confused, and slightly amused. He heard him mention thieves; they had probably gotten robbed.

"We are done talking about this," said the man, his arms crossed. Finally, the man looked over to Archer, and his eyes widened. "Oh, a customer…sorry about that." The woman looked over her shoulder, and then walked away, to another section of the room. Archer approached the counter warily. "I-I don't know what you overheard," said the man, "but the Riverwood trader is still open."

Archer didn't feel like prodding these people, out of the possibility of starting another argument, and said, "Um, okay…I was hoping to sell some things.

* * *

A few transactions later, Archer was grabbing the items he had purchased from the countertop and putting them into a bag. It was then that curiosity began to make its appearance. Those thieves they mentioned earlier stole something very valuable from here. Apparently they only stole one thing, but that was enough to seriously affect the store owner? What could be so valuable? Archer decided to talk to the man.

"So…what happened here? Did you get hit by thieves?" he asked, putting another red vial with a name tag that said "Potion of Minor healing" in faded ink into his bag.

The man's attention snapped to Archer, and he gave him a scrutinizing glare, before finally answering: "Yes…but don't worry, we've got everything still here. Robbers were only after one thing." The man then raised his hands, and grabbed ahold of an imaginary object, before saying, "An ornament. Solid gold, and in the shape of a dragon's claw."

That's it? The bandits were only after an ornament? Bandits were possibly the least educated of all of Skyrim's population, but even they should know something when they have an opportunity to get more loot out of a store. They weren't very good at fighting, either. A simple trained guard could easily take out a couple of them, or so he had heard. But against an experienced hunter like him, one who knew about fighting from the shadows, they wouldn't stand a chance, right?

"I could get the claw back for you," said Archer. It was more out of the longing for adventure than the desire to do a good deed that persuaded Archer to ask the man. He and his father had always gone on adventures together, exploring the natural world, so adventure was always something Archer liked. Venturing into a Bandit's camp to retrieve an ornament for a shopkeeper? The mere though of it made him excited.

"Really? You could?" said the man. "I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you get my claw back." Well, _that_ was definitely a welcome bonus.

Archer nodded once, and said, "Alright. Consider that claw yours." The man seemed to be pleased, visibly relaxing somewhat behind the counter.

"So this is your plan, Lucan?" asked the woman behind him. He had almost forgotten she was here to begin with, she had been so quiet.

"Yes," the man said, a smug grin on his face, "so now you don't have to go."

Archer got a good look at the woman. She had a fair skin color, and brown hair tied back into a knot. She had a simple yellow cloth dress on, with a cream undershirt on. Her arms were thin, indication that she wasn't used to heavy-duty labor. Was this lady seriously thinking about going into a Bandit camp? She didn't look the least bit like an adventurer.

"Well, I think our helper should have a guide," she said.

"No, I- " the man said, trying to think of something to say. He groaned, and said, "Oh, fine! But only to the edge of town!"

It was here that Archer intervened: "Excuse me," he said, "but I feel it's a little late to be going out at the moment…I will go tomorrow."

The man looked at him, and said, "Oh, okay, that's…perfectly fine. Please do remember, though."

Archer nodded once, and said, "Will do." Putting the last items into his bag, Archer turned around and walked outside. Once outside, he looked to the sky. The sun was starting to set, as he could see its light from behind the mountain tops. He knew that it would be too dangerous to go out to do anything, so he decided to head to Gerdur's house now.

A breeze passed by him, and he shivered. It wasn't very strong, but to him, every cool breeze was unwelcome in this already-cold land. He was fine here, where he was closer to the southern border, but up further north, the story would definitely be different. _The next thing I'm going to buy,_ Archer thought, _is a coat, or cloak._

* * *

Whiterun is a beautiful city in the center of Skyrim, to the north of Riverwood. Known as the Jewel of the North by some, Whiterun is proud city that became powerful from trading. Due to its central location in Skyrim, traders from near and far visit it in hopes of making money. The city is divided into three sections, or districts: The Plains district is the first one a visitor would see when they enter, and is named so because it is closest to the Plains. The Wind district is the next one, named because of the mountain wind gusts that occasionally breeze through the city. The last one is the Cloud district, the smallest, but possibly the most important. This is where Whiterun's Jarl, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, resides inside Dragonsreach, a large fortress that sits atop a bluff that overlooks and rises above the surrounding tundra. It was no surprise that this was the reason they call its district the Cloud District.

Inside the great fortress, a group of soldiers was entering from the main entrance of Dragonsreach. The soldiers had steel helmets that covered their entire heads, not leaving any piece of skin exposed. They wore a scaled vest as body armor, and had yellow cloth wrapped around their torso held to their waists by a leather band, along with short chain mail sleeves. They wore fur boots, and each of them had an Imperial-style sword, an Imperial bow, and a round, yellow, wooden shield with a painted depiction of a horse's head, the symbol of Whiterun Hold. All of them were covered partly in dirt, and had blood stains on their armor and weapons; they had come back from a mission.

Currently, they stood at attention in the main hallway of Dragonsreach's entrance. To the right, a Nord man, tall and imposing, strode in. He wore elegant clothing, and had a royal circlet atop his head, a symbol of his power. He sat down on his throne, and inspected the group before him. A Dark Elf woman covered in leather armor, his housecarl, stood at his side. The Jarl's eyes passed over the guards, inspecting each one. He scanned them, as if searching for a face that he couldn't find.

The sudden sound of his voice in the near-silence almost made some of the guards jump: "I trust that you took care of the Bandit camp?" he asked. The authority in his voice was unmistakable, obviously this man had experience in commanding his men. One guard stepped forwards.

"Yes, sir," said the man. Bandits had been a trouble in Whiterun only recently, but they were a pestering thorn in Whiterun's side. The obvious solution would have been to send out a team to take care of the nearest camp.

"Where's Ulfgar?" asked the Jarl, referring to the commander of the dispatched strike team. Another one of the guards stepped forwards.

"He's at the healer," he said. "He got slashed in the side, lost a bit of blood. We lost two men, Hulgard and Viguri."

The Dark Elf's eyes widened, flaring red with shock and anger. "You lost two men? Those Bandits better have been very good if you managed to lose two of our men, almost three, to them. What's your excuse?" she asked apprehensively. A few men stepped back, obviously fearing the Dark Elf's wrath.

"The Bandits, they managed to flank us," said one guard.

"Their patrol must have returned, and gotten behind us; we got surrounded on all sides," said another.

"We would had lost more, if Lydia hadn't broken their line," said one last guard. The Dark Elf's eyes widened again, but this time, in surprise, while the Jarl leaned forwards on his throne, interested in what they had to say.

"Really now?" he said, looking to one of the guards. The guard that was the point of interest currently was shorter than the rest, not being a man, and she simply stood at attention, disregarding the glances she was getting from the rest of the guards. "Well then. Aventus," the Jarl said, looking to a smaller Imperial man at his side, who immediately snapped to attention, "prepare to send grievance messages to the families of the guards." The man quickly nodded, and went to another room in the grand palace. "The rest of you," said the Jarl, addressing the remaining guards, "can go to the quarters for a well-deserved rest."

The soldiers nodded once, saying "Yes, sir," before turning and walking to where they would rest for the night. They did so in an orderly fashion, walking in a single-filed line to their living quarters.

"Lydia," said the Jarl. The guard in question stopped in her tracks, and turned to meet the Jarl. "Could you stay here? I'd like to speak with you," said the man. The other guards had also stopped out of curiosity. The Jarl didn't speak with anyone privately unless it was with a matter of great concern. The Jarl never had trouble breaking bad news, what would he have to tell her in private? The Jarl looked back to the rest of the guards.

"I told _Lydia_ to stay; I didn't know we had more than one Lydia."

The guards quickly sorted themselves out, and began to walk away, slightly faster this time, and Lydia watched them go. When the last of the guards left the room, Lydia turned back to the Jarl. He motioned her to come closer, and she did. She walked to him until she stood directly in front of the man. He looked up at her with an amused expression on his face.

"Why don't you take off your helmet? I like it when I can see the face of the person I'm talking to," said the Jarl. His voice sounded comforting, fatherly even. It was only natural, considering that he had his own children, and had to have a good temper to be in good favor with those he met. After a moment of hesitation, Lydia reached up to her head, and pulled off the helmet that most guards in Whiterun wore.

A small cascade of dark hair followed the helmet, before falling back down, where it rested on her neck and briefly touched her shoulders. She had fair skin, like most Nords did, and dark green eyes. Compared to the other guards, she was shorter, but that was only because she wasn't a man. She placed the helmet under her arm, where it stayed put.

"That was a very honorable thing you did there, I won't forget it. I don't think they'll forget it, either. Those men owe their lives to you," said the Jarl, pleased.

"It was my duty, your Majesty. I only fight to serve Whiterun," she said. Her voice was confident, and was less thickly accented, unlike the rest of her group. Her tone of voice was professional, obviously taking her work very seriously.

The Jarl smiled at her words. "Of course you do. I take it that you were following orders from Ulfgar when you did so, right?" he asked.

Lydia looked to one side, carefully contemplating what she would say next. In the presence of a Jarl, especially one that could become ill-tempered if her word choice was less than adequate, it paid to think of what you said before you actually said it. Many a servant or guard had to suffer from having unintentionally angered the Jarl with poor word selection.

Finally, she spoke: "Ulfgar was wounded badly, and he was having a hard enough time staying alive. I had to break their formation myself, it was the only way, my Lord."

She braced herself for the worst. Out of all things, however, the Jarl smiled at her.

"And _that,_" he said, "Is how you've gotten to where you are now. You're smart, and can think for yourself. If you had followed orders blindly, like a sheep to his shepard, you would have all been slaughtered like one as well." The Jarl shifted so that he was sitting properly. "I always saw a great amount of promise in you when I took you into the service. If you keep up your progress, then I think you'll be due for a promotion soon."

Lydia smiled, and bowed her head. "Thank you, my Lord."

The Jarl smiled, and said, "That will be all. You are dismissed." Lydia bowed her head once more, and walked away briskly. The smile on her face could not be hidden. When she first joined Jarl Balgruuf's guard, the other guards would always glare and scowl at her. These men always believed that the place for a woman was in the garden, or at home. A "proper" woman was supposed to know how to cook, sew, and raise children. All of those things she had been taught by her mother how to do, but she always despised them. Just because she knew how to do them didn't mean she liked doing them.

It had taken her a while, but eventually, she began to prove her worth. The Captain and the Jarl himself even sent her along with other guards on important assignments. She eventually won the favor of the other guards, and she believed that they were finally respecting her, despite them making playful jabs at her occasionally, but all in good nature, she supposed.

She had finally made it to her quarters, and she opened the door. She went over to her bed, and began to get ready for the night. Switching out her standard-issue guard armor with linen nightclothes, she stretched her arms. Her joints cracked in response, having been through rigorous fighting earlier today. But at the end of the day, she was only happy that she could lay down on a bed and sleep. She finally slipped into bed, and pulled the covers over her. She settled comfortably into bed, and felt herself nodding off to sleep, slowly losing consciousness…

Until she heard a roar.

Her eyes shot open, and she sat up in bed. She looked around, and then looked out her window. Slowly, she got out of bed, and walked over to the window, all the while thinking, _what could have possibly roared like _that_? _She opened the window, and looked around. The sky was already dark, the last of the sun's rays having just disappeared over the mountain range. She didn't see anything. There only thing that revealed its presence was a chilling breeze that she easily ignored; Nords were biologically adapted to resisting the cold, it was in her blood. Granted, having lived in Skyrim the majority, if not the entirety, of her life, would have gotten her used to the nearly ever-present chill Skyrim had to offer.

She racked her memory to see if she could remember any animal that could have roared like that. Bears? No, their roar was ferocious, but it was more distinguishable from other animals, and it did not sound like the roar she had heard. Saber cats? They roared very loud, and their roar could echo off the mountain ranges, but their roar could only be heard from so far. The roar she heard had bounced off of and echoed throughout mountains, she could tell. The creature was far away, but it had to have been able to roar very loudly if it could be heard from here. Maybe it was a werewolf...

Lydia shook her head; those werewolf tales were just Children's stories that her father used to tell her. They were all fantastical and unreal creatures, they didn't exist in Skyrim, right? Another moment of scanning the mountaintops, and Lydia finally gave up. She decided that worrying about a simple roar was not worth giving up a good night's sleep. She finally settled back down into bed, and this time, she fell asleep. Even in sleep, however, the roar pestered her; it was not natural, it simply sounded otherworldly. Possibly, only time would tell.

**Ending A/N: So there's chapter one! As you can see, I started off the way I did to try and familiarize my older audience to this, if they happen to be watching. I hope you liked it, and I hope you will leave a PM or a review if you want to tell me something about the story.**


	2. A Whole New World

_Fire. Red hot, burning, consuming everything in its path. It was everywhere: on the walls, the floor, in the sky, everywhere, all the flames hungrily licking up any combustible material it could gets its whispy tendrils attached to. Another wooden structure practically exploded, bits of burning wood flying everywhere. Archer looked around, frenzied and scared. The smell of burning wood and flesh permeated his nostrils, filling his head with the odor of burning death. The ashes and smoke clouds that hung low to the ground burned his eyes as he squinted, trying to see the source of all the death. He looked up, and could only gasp in horror at the yellow-red clouds that were rolling in. The sound of an unearthly roar heralded the arrival of a large shockwave, and in that moment, burning balls of fire began to fall from the sky. The fireballs hit the floor and exploded, incinerating anything unfortunate enough to be in its blast radius. The sounds of people shouting, screaming, dying filled his eardrums, until he thought they would burst. He had to get out of here, right now._

_No thoughts went through his mind as he ran, stumbling blindly through the smoke clouds that obscured his vision. Another roar, and a jet of white-hot flames engulfed a small house, reducing it, along with its residents, to a smoldering pile of ashes. He looked around, and saw that death was everywhere; soldiers had been torn in half ruthlessly; townspeople had been crushed by debris; the burnt corpse of a town resident lay on the floor, burnt beyond any hope of recognition. The corpse was on its knees, shielding its face with two thin, bony, black-and-red charred arms, its body having been frozen into that position for all time. Suddenly, he couldn't run anymore, and stopped. He was breathing erratically, both from fear and from the thick smoke that threatened to choke him with every breath he took. Suddenly, another roar, louder than any other, threatening to break his sanity, erupted from the sky above. He covered his ears, and shut his eyes, hoping that everything would just go away. Then, a loud and heavy thud in front of his diverted his attention. As the dust and smoke settled, he stood there, awestruck and horrified, as he stared at the dragon._

_It was large, as large as an Inn, but certainly more terrifying; red eyes burned into him like the hottest flames of Oblivion, as if the dragon believed that it could set him on fire if it concentrated hard enough. There were no whites to its eyes, only red, which still reflected the fire that burned in the background, all around them. Hundreds of large, black spikes adorned its back and wings, and two giant curved horns rested on the back of its head, sprouting out and twisting, like a dark king's crown. The creature growled at him, and began to walk towards him. He didn't move. He couldn't move. It was only a few feet away now, it's neck arched backwards, so it could stare down on its prey, looking down on Archer like a worthless creature. Archer only looked up back at the dragon, wide-eyed and scared. The dragon lifted its head up to the sky, and roared again, the mere sound of its roar causing the very earth to rumble. It looked back down on Archer, and opened its maw. Archer yelled, and shielded himself with his arms as the dragon bit down on him._

"Archer! Wake up, for Talos' sake!" yelled Ralof. Immediately, Archer's eyes shot open with a gasp. His wide eyes looked around feverishly, and he sat up in bed, clutching the blankets tightly. Ralof, Gerdur, and Hod were all around him, trying to calm him down. Frodnar, Gerdur's and Hod's son, looked from behind the crowd, worry in his eyes. Their wolfhound looked on at them, its head tilted to one side in what would have to be curiosity. Archer finally did calm down, and he put a hand to his chest, breathing heavily. Seeing that he was fine, everyone stepped back, and gave the Argonian some space.

"W-what happened?" asked a very excited and slightly panting Archer.

"You were screaming in your sleep," said Gerdur, "tossing and turning all about, and you were saying incomprehensible things. We tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't come to."

Archer looked at all of them incredulously. Stump, the wolfhound they owned, walked to Archer's bedside, and nudged his hand with his nose, asking for Archer to pet him.

"I-I was in Helgen again…the dragon was there, and everyone was dying," Archer said, complying with Stump's silent request. "It was terrible, everyone was just burning, the houses, the guards, even the sky was on fire, and-"

"That's quite enough, Archer," said Ralof, putting a calming hand on Archer's shoulder. It was then that he realized that he almost got himself worked up again, and settled back down onto the bed. "Wouldn't want to give the rest of us nightmares too, hm?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of dark humor, which was not appreciated by anyone.

"Is he going to be okay?" asked Frodnar from behind the three. Hod turned to his son.

"He'll be alright, just a case of nightmares," said Hod. With that, Hod and Ralof began to walk away, to continue eating their breakfast. Gerdur looked to see them go, before turning her head to Archer.

"That must have been a horrible dream, having to relive that," she said, concern in her voice.

"Trust me, it was," said Archer, sitting up in bed. His heart beat had finally slowed down, and he was feeling calmer. That dragon had truly terrified him, more than any thing else in the world. The memory of the encounter struck fear into his very soul, like a well-placed arrow in an elk's heart. The experience he had in Helgen was not one that could be forgotten easily. He had seen men, women, and children slaughtered like cattle, burned beyond recognition, some of them still holding onto their own lives, or shielding their families in a vain attempt to save them. He feared that the dragon had affected him more strongly than just souring his mood. Time healed all wounds, he had heard. He hoped that it would apply to him too.

Gerdur smiled, and said, "Well, in any case, I'm glad you're okay," she said. Then she turned, before saying," You should probably get out of bed, I have breakfast ready to eat." She walked away, and Archer shifted his bod so he comfortably sat on the side of the bed, his hands on his knees, and his tail curled against his thigh. He sighed, and noticed a presence next to him. He looked to his side, and saw Frodnar standing there, looking at him.

He spoke: "Don't worry, bad dreams don't happen too many times," he said. "I'm sure that it was just a one-time thing. Don't worry about it; I used to be afraid of monsters when I was little, but I'm a man now," he said, puffing up his chest slightly in an attempt to look bigger, "and I know that if I fight back, those monsters will never get to me, and I'll be able to sleep safe."

Archer couldn't help but smile at the young boy's words. In fact, they had made him feel a tinge better. Sometimes, he supposed, it was best to approach a problem with a child's logic. _If a child could help with with getting over a traumatizing event, then why not get kids to solve all our problems for us?, _he thought, smirking at himself. He looked at the boy, and smiled, bowing his head once in gratitude.

"Thank you for your advice," Archer said, getting up. The boy smiled.

"No problem," said the boy, before going off to do his own things.

…

_This was supposed to be a journal of my journey after leaving my parents' care. I had bought this with the intention of recounting my exciting adventures alone, but I guess, Fate is the one who chooses how things ultimately turn out. This is officially my first week and a half on my own without my parents, and my second day in Skyrim._

Archer wrote this as he ate the breakfast that Gerdur supplied him with: a plate of bread with some goat cheese on the side. He picked up another piece of the bread and put it in his mouth, chewing it carefully, before continuing to write.

_My first day is not one that I want to recount. I was walking along the road in the early morning, having gotten over the mountains just yesterday night. Then, I heard fighting, and shouting. It might have been a Bandit territory battle, but my curiosity got the better of me. From behind the bushes, I saw what would have been a skirmish between Stormcloaks and Imperials, if the Imperials weren't outnumbering the Stormcloaks by a fairly wide margin. I managed to see the conclusion of the fight, with the Stormcloak leader ordering his men to stop fighting. When they say that curiosity killed the cat, they probably should have mentioned the Argonian as well. A few Imperial soldiers noticed me, and chased after me. I ran, but I was eventually caught, all thanks to a large tree root that tripped me and made me fall onto the dirt. I didn't even have time to get up before they hit me in the back of the head, stripped me of any and all my possessions, and put me on a prisoner cart to be executed. When it was my turn to die, I walked up to the chopping block, and my head was put on the wooden block. But then, out of the heavens, an honest-to-gods DRAGON appeared. The dragon laid waste to the town's guards, and I managed to escape with a Stormcloak prisoner whose name was Ralof. We managed to get out of the town by means of an underground cavern system. When we got out, we made our way to the nearest town, where Ralof's sister owned the mill, and could help us: Riverwood._

He stopped writing to grab his tankard of water. He lifted the mug to his mouth and drank from it, washing down the bread he had just eaten. He heard something get placed onto the table, and saw a dark orange-colored bottle on the table top right in front of him, Ralof's hand grabbing it. Realizing that he was offering him a drink, Archer shook his head.

"No thanks, uh…mead doesn't sit well with me in the morning," Archer said apologetically. Ralof shrugged, and uncorked the bottle, before guzzling the alcohol right from the bottle. Archer watched in fascination as the man downed around half of the tall container in one go, before finally removing it from his mouth with an _aah _of satisfaction. Archer resumed his writing.

_I am currently writing this from inside Ralof's sister's home. Riverwood has proven to be, so far, a quiet little town. Not much excitement, but in a good way. These people are peaceful, and most are very kind, once their suspicions are cleared. I've had several people glare at me just because I've picked up this Imperial armor while I escaped, and one pro-Imperial family who wanted to "thank me" for "protecting their land". I've got to remember to buy myself non-provocative armor, and some decent clothes before I leave Skyrim. Sure, it's nice, but I don't think it's my kind of place. I want to return to Cyrodiil, and then maybe go to Hammerfell, or even Valenwood. Perhaps even to my homeland, Black Marsh. I've never been there, and it embarrasses me that I've never seen my homeland. Maybe I'll go there next. But future plans will have to wait. In my short time in Skyrim, I have already promised my "services" to Riverwood's trader. He's sending me to get his beloved store ornament which, oddly enough, was the only thing that the Bandits that hit his store stole. When I make a promise, I don't break it, so any further plans will have to wait until after I accomplish their task. While I may not like to be considered an errands boy, I'm happy to help those innocent people, especially since I'm getting something out of this quest yet. Hopefully, those Bandits won't prove to be too much of a hassle._

"Archer," Gerdur's voice calling his name averted his attention. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but, is it a good time for me to ask something of you?" she asked. Archer nodded.

"Sure, what is it?" he asked.

"I'm sorry if it seems inappropriate to ask something of you now, but It's urgent," she said.

"Go right on ahead," said Archer. They had taken him in without prejudice - well, _mostly_ without prejudice, they might have given him a look when he turned down their offers of ale and mead - and they had given him a resting place, food, and drink. He supposed that he owed them for the inconvenience. It would only be fair if he did something for them in return. Gerdur straightened herself, stretching out the wrinkles in her dress subconsciously, before speaking.

"I need you to go to Whiterun and tell Jarl Balgruuf about the dragon," she said. "The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless against a dragon attack," she said. It seemed that Archer's observations the day before were actually very accurate. He had not seen a single guard the entire time he was there. It was unusual for a town to have no defenses, because it was usually considered extremely dangerous to risk being hit by a Bandit raid, or some other form of danger. He supposed that the Jarls were Skyrim's form of Counts, so why didn't the Jarl have men sent to Riverwood if it were defenseless? Either this man didn't care much for his people, or something was pressuring him to not take action.

"Okay…where exactly _is_ Whiterun?" asked Archer. Gerdur looked at him incredulously for a moment, before relaxing her facial expression.

"You haven't been to Skyrim before, have you?" she asked. Archer shook his head in a 'no'. "Cross the bridge over the River and head North. You can't miss it, unless you were blind as a bat, or couldn't read the road signs." Illiteracy was common in Skyrim among the lower classes, mostly the farmers and peasants. Archer had the good fortune of actually being literate, and not being blind, so evidently, he wouldn't have much trouble making it to Whiterun when the time came.

"Alright, I'll go there as soon as I can," said Archer. Gerdur smiled with gratitude, and walked off. Watching her walk off, he then realized that he had made two promises to two people in less than 2 days. He had that errand - _good deed,_ he had to remind himself - that he offered for that man in the trader, and he had to go to Whiterun now just for Gerdur. Well, actually, when he thought of it, he would be doing all of Riverwood's citizens a favor. He decided to think about his situation later, and finish writing the journal entry he started. He looked back down to his journal, and continued writing:

_Gerdur just told me what she wanted me to do in return: she wants me to go to another city, Whiterun, just north of here. She wants me to go tell their Jarl Balgruuf about the dragon attack on Helgen. I suppose that I'll be going off today on that. When I finally finish my jobs - because I never give my word if I won't do something - then I'm getting out of Skyrim the first chance I get. We'll see how things turn out from there._

With the final words from his journal entry finally written down, Archer finally set down his quill, closed his journal, and put it into his pack. He ate the last bits of his bread with cheese, and gulped down the last of his water, before getting up from the wooden chair. Hod walked by him, and stopped, looking at him.

"I'm off to Whiterun to tell your Jarl about the dragon, so he may send reinforcements to help defend Riverwood in case of a dragon attack," he said simply. Hod looked at him, then smiled.

"That's a good man," he said, clapping Archer's shoulder gratefully. "We all appreciate what you're doing for us," he said.

"It's only fair, I presume," Archer said, shrugging. Hod then seemed to have a sudden thought, and motioned for Archer to stay put. He then vanished to another section of the house. Archer, confused, simply stayed standing where he was. Hod came back moments later, holding out to him a wooden hunting bow.

"This is for you," he said, handing the wooden bow to Archer, who grabbed it slowly. He inspected it, and saw that it was in fairly good shape; it didn't show many signs of wear and tear, the frame was still strong, and the bowstring was at a good tension.

"The road to Whiterun isn't always the safest," Hod explained, "and this bow has served me very well. It's a little used, but it'll definitely serve you better than…that," he said, pointing to Archer's pathetic excuse for a bow that he had gotten from Ralof inside of Helgen's caverns. His current bow, a longbow, had a flimsy frame compared to this one, the string was too loose for his liking, and it was just exactly what its name implied: long. Too long, in fact. The long bow was too big to maneuver very comfortably for him, but this hunting bow, with its more compact and firm form, would surely serve him longer, and still have the stopping power to down a bull elk at a good distance. However, Archer shook his head.

"No, I can't accept this," he retorted, trying to hand the bow back, "I've already taken from you enough, I really wouldn't want to-"

"Please, I insist," said Hod, pushing the bow firmly into Archer's hands. "If you get to Whiterun and deliver that message, you'll be doing us all a great favor. It's worth the lives of everyone here in Riverwood: my wife, my son…the least I could do is help guarantee your safe arrival to your destination." Archer looked down at the Hunting Bow, and finally reached to his back to remove his old bow, and switch it out for the hunting bow. The bow was a bit heavier on his back despite being smaller, probably due to the stronger and heavier material of the bow itself. He then turned, and walked out of the house.

…

_Gerdur was right,_ Archer thought, _there was no possible way I could have missed this place._ Indeed, right from the moment that the trees and mountains had ceased to block his view, the city of Whiterun was visible in the distance. Despite having been so far away, the city's form could be seen clearly. Very few details could be made out, of course, given the distance, but he could see the enormous structure that sat atop a large bluff. It looked like a stronghold, or fortress of some sort, being tactically placed atop the natural formation. That would definitely have to be the Jarl's palace. He finally stopped admiring the far-off city, and continued walking; he still had a considerable distance to go. The only reason he could see the city was because it was so large, and the weather conditions were favorable. Any other kind of structure would easily be missed at the same distance. The sun was already at its peak in the sky, alerting him of the time of day, around noon. He didn't want to be walking around in the dark, in a land that he didn't know, going to a city he'd never heard of until recently. He picked up the pace, walking slightly faster this time.

Then, the thought hit him: he was supposed to tell the Jarl that a dragon attacked and razed a town to the ground. How on earth would he convince this foreign king that a _dragon_, a creature that hadn't been seen in Skyrim for ages, suddenly just _showed up_ and burned down a town? And how would he explain his being there? "I had a good view of the dragon while the Imperials were trying to lop my head off" would surely have to be the most foolish thing to say, in front of a king and his court. Another thing, he wasn't any bit important either; he'd have to somehow talk his way into gaining entrance to the palace.

Then, his ears picked up noise in the distance. They were sounds of conflict, of what he could hear: people yelling, taunting, grunts of pain, and the occasional rumble as something heavy struck the floor. He looked around, trying to see if he could find the source of the sounds. He finally found it in the distance: next to a farm of some sort, a very large humanoid creature with a loincloth and a giant club was stomping around. At his knees were around three people clad in different kinds of armor, who were obviously fighting the thing. The creature they were fighting was one that he had heard of once: they were called Giants, and with good reason. It roared, and raised its club high into the air, before slamming it down to the ground, causing a rumble that could be felt from a distance. It staggered its attackers, but the three kept dancing around it, striking at every opportunity given, and somehow managing to not get hit. But they were being worn down, and would not last long. He looked to Whiterun, still looming in the distance, and then back to the giant and its attackers. He ran towards the battle.

Thankfully, he was clad still in his Imperial armor, which was light enough so that he would run quickly, and without tiring out as easily. He didn't bother going down the main road, he would take too long. He resolved for running through the small patch of woods and then jumping down a somewhat-steep rocky downgrade. He hit the floor, and ran forwards, closing the distance between him and the giant. When he reached a comfortable distance, he started to pull out his bow. _Time to put this bow to the test,_ he thought as he got within shooting distance of the Giant. He pulled out an arrow, and nocked it into place. He hadn't had many opportunities to shoot lately, he'd had the fortune to not have met many foes yet in his travels. More often, he'd be shooting deer than Bandits most of the time, let alone a Giant. Regardless, he drew back the bowstring, and aimed at the Giant. He saw that there were already arrows on its body, most of them in its torso, and some of them even in places that would be fatal to a person. However, this Giant didn't seem to be bothered whatsoever by the fact that there were arrows sticking out of its body, and continued to stomp around, trying to crush its enemies underfoot. Evidently, they had an archer that hadn't hit a vital point yet, so where would he hit it? Looking at its head, he saw that there were no arrows in it, so naturally he decided to aim for there.

He waited for the right moment, the tension in his bowstring becoming too much to bear, and finally let go, more out of the bowstring tension than actually wanting to shoot. The arrow flew through the air, and neatly cut the air besides the Giant's head, who paid no heed to the arrow that whizzed by its head. He quickly reached back to his quiver and pulled out another arrow. He nocked it, and pulled back the bowstring again. The giant was now facing away from him, trying to hit one of its attackers, but instead smashing the floor instead. He fired an arrow at its head, and it missed yet again, the Giant's head having moved at the last moment.

_Calm down,_ he thought to himself, _focus on the target._ He reached back and pulled another arrow out, calmly this time. He loaded his bow, and pulled back the string. He slowed his breathing, and focused on the Giant's head. The Giant turned to its side, and managed to cause on of its attackers to fall on their back. The Giant raised its club for a killing blow. _There._ At that moment, its head stayed in place, and his adrenaline-enhanced reflexes made time seem to slow just enough for him to adjust his aim, and look down the arrow's shaft, right at the Giant's temple. He let his breath out, and released the arrow at that moment. The arrow sliced the air, and hit the target several yards away, clean through the temple. The arrow pierced the softer tissue easily, and kept tunneling through the skull until it was far enough in so that only part of the shaft and its fletching could be seen. The Giant's eyes widened, but it barely grunted, before it staggered forwards a single step, dropping its club in the process, and then falling on its back with a loud and heavy thud.

He lowered his bow, and ran over to the Giant's corpse. He looked down at his bow in satisfaction, and slung it across his back again. It had passed his test. He then turned his head to look at the three who were fighting the beast. Their group consisted of two women, one of them, visibly being the youngest of the group, in a sort of scaled armor, and sporting a steel sword. The other woman, who looked older, was in a very…strange sort of armor, he thought. Certainly not a very normal kind of armor, he'd never seen any of its type before. It didn't look very practical, either, in fact it was rather…revealing, namely exposing her sides, legs, and other parts of the body that he'd rather not think of. The last member of their party, the one who had fallen down and almost gotten crushed, was a man, a Nord man, who sported standard Steel armor. A large Steel greatsword lay at his side. These Nords and their love for large weapons, and it had almost gotten this one killed. Archer still didn't understand the practicality of wielding a weapon that could throw you off-balance so easily, with it being so heavy. The more mature-looking woman approached him slowly, while the younger one helped up the Nord man.

"That was some decent shooting you did there," she remarked. By the bow she was holding in her hand, Archer had to guess that this was their archer. A compliment from one archer to another was certainly more meaningful than that from any other warrior.

Archer simply shrugged, and said, "Just doing what I can." The woman smiled at him.

"You would make for a decent Shield-Brother, I think," she said, slinging her bow across her back. Archer simply looked at her quizzically.

"Shield-Brother?" he asked. "What's that?" The woman looked at him incredulously for only a moment. Archer was starting to get a bit annoyed at how these Nords expected him to know so much about the people and places that this land had to offer right off the start. The woman then put her hands on her hips.

"An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions, then?" she asked. Archer shook his head. "The Companions are an order of warriors. We show up to take care of trouble wherever it may be. If the coin's good enough, we show up to take care of things."

Archer folded his arms, unimpressed. They sounded just like a group of mercenaries, or sellswords, those who would just sell their skills with weapons just for the gold. There was nothing behind it, no emotion, no passion. They may as well have been hired thugs. They weren't special, not like the Fighter's Guild back in Cyrodill. They were just a regular group of warriors, but what they did had more glory in it than some group of mercenaries. Of course, his mother believed in glory, more so than his father. She was the one who taught him what he used to know about sword fighting, but by this point, he had all but forgotten her lessons.

"So, you're just a group of sellswords?" he asked her. To this, she seemed greatly offended, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, we are _not_ a group of sellswords," she said. "What we Companions do is not just for the pay, but some may say so otherwise, but that's their loss. The Companions are an honorable group, and most of us train every day to get better at fighting, so that we may hope to achieve glory one day. We Companions are more honorable, and value the glory and honor of getting to kill a strong foe rather than the pay that comes afterwards. The Companions are sung of in many mead halls across Skyrim, and no group of _mercenaries_ could ever hope to accomplish that," she finished, crossing her arms in return.

"Well then," said Archer. "I may just take a look at this place myself." Though he doubted it, he may in fact just take a look around, maybe see what these Nords were like.

"If you want to apply for the Companions, then you'd have to speak with Kodlak White-Mane, our Harbringer. He'll see if you are worthy," she said, uncrossing her arms so that they rested on her hips. The Nord man from before walked up behind her.

"Aela," he said, gaining her attention. "We should get back to Jorrvaskr, our contract is done." He was large, and tall, taller than Archer himself, by a good few inches. He had dark hair that rested against the back of his neck, barely touching his shoulders; Archer found it strange that these Nord men liked to keep their hair long, it almost made them look like women. Dark war-paint went over his eyes, which looked him over, inspecting him. The woman known as Aela looked back to the man, and nodded. She turned back to Archer.

"Maybe we'll see you in battle some time," she said. Then, she turned to leave. Archer watched her go, along the other younger woman. The Nord man, however, stayed. He looked at Archer, and walked up to him.

"Thanks for, uh, the save," he said, scratching the back of his head. By the way he said it, he obviously didn't like having to be saved from death by another person. Given these Nords' senses of honor, he probably saw it as a humiliation of a sort, or maybe a blow to his own honor. Archer just looked at him, arms still crossed.

"Just make sure you're more careful around those Giants," he said simply. The man nodded. Then, he finally turned to leave, catching up with his comrades who had been walking away without him. Archer looked back at the city, which was now close enough so that he could see details; the stone walls and wooden palisades that made up the City's defensive walls were sure to be useful for defending against a Bandit raid, or even to discourage an approaching enemy force. However, those were all useless if the enemy could fly like a bird and spit flames out its mouth. He finally remembered what he had come here to do in the first place, and, with a new sense of urgency, began to dash towards the city's entrance. He dashed right past those Companions, leaving them in the dust, and ran right up to the city gates. Two guards donning their standard-issue, yellow-clothed Hold guard armor stood at the ready at either side of the great wooden doors. Upon seeing the Argonian running at Whiterun's gates as if its tail were on fire, the two looked at each other, before one walked up to him.

"Halt," said the man, signaling for Archer to stop. The Argonian skidded to a halt a few feet away from the man. "City's closed from the Dragons. Those who enter must be on official business only," he said.

"Yes, I'm on official business, let me in!" Archer said urgently. The guard simply crossed his arms.

"The Jarl has already told you people; he doesn't want to garrison troops in his hold, so there's your answer. Now leave," said the guard. Archer looked at him strangely, then noticed the armor he had on.

"No, you don't understand," he said, "This isn't…I'm not an Imperial Soldier." _Indeed, you are very convincing,_ Archer thought dryly to himself, seeing himself standing in a type of armor that only Imperial soldiers could wear.

"Really? Then what would you be doing with that _Imperial armor_ you have on there, eh?" he asked.

"Maybe he stole a set of armor from an Imperial keep," interjected the other guard.

They shouldn't be giving him that much trouble to just enter the city. As they had told him, they were to only allow people on official business to enter, that was an understandable reason for their initial hostility, but implying that he had stolen from an _Imperial keep?_ The mere notion of it was near-insane. Looting an Imperial keep would be near-suicide for a simple theif, but Archer had to guess that they presumed him a theif right off the start because of his race. Argonians were infamous for their natural stealthiness, rivaling that of the Khajiit. Argonians were thought to make some of the best thieves and assassins that could be had. Some organizations that have a preference for enlisting stealthy people into their ranks, such as the Thieves' Guild, definitely nod to this fact, as Argonians were an often-employed race that could usually be found in their ranks. In Cyrodiil, Archer had occasionally encountered racism or general dislike for Argonians in different forms, and from different kinds of people, but back in Cyrodiil, people wouldn't make as big a deal out of what race you were. Apparently, in Skyrim, it definitely mattered what kind of race you were.

"A thief, eh?" said the first guard, his hand slowly inching towards the hilt of his sword. "We don't deal with thieves here, we dispose of them." Then, he quickly unsheathed his sword, the metal catching light, causing it to shine as the sharp blade was pointed towards Archer. "I'm going to give you one last chance," he said threateningly, "get out _now,_ or I'll haul you into Dragonsreach dungeon myself."

"I have this armor on because I was in Helgen," Archer said, becoming increasingly annoyed with the attitude of these guards. His hands almost clenched into fists, but he refrained from doing so. If he clenched his fists, he'd end up cutting himself with his own claws, something that he had learned the hard way several times before. "I have come here to inform the Jarl of what happened to over there," he added, moving for the gates, "so if you'll excuse me…"

"Hold it, you're not going anywhere," said the first guard, blocking Archer's path right before he passed him. "Now, this is your last warning. Either you leave, or-"

"Let him in," said a rough voice. Archer looked behind him to see that the Companions had finally caught up, and the man who had spoken was the Nord who Archer had saved just minutes ago. Archer wondered how long the had been standing there. By the way the woman with the strange armor shifted on her feet, they had probably been standing there for a little while now. The first guard turned his head towards the man, and shook his head.

"With all respect Companion," said the guard, addressing the large Nord, "We can't let him in. We've been told to-"

"It doesn't matter what you've been told," said the Companion man, "he's not a thief. He's a good warrior, and he has just as much right to go in as we do." The guard shifted on his feet, as if contemplating his answer. "Don't worry," the Companion added, "If he gets into trouble, I'll deal with him. Alright?"

This seemed to finally convince the guard, and he turned his head to nod at his comrade. The second guard went to the doors and began to unlock them, giving Archer free passage into Whiterun, finally. The first guard turned to him.

"You're free to go," said the guard. "But I'll be keeping an eye on you. I still don't trust you." Archer simply glared at the man, and walked right past him, through the wooden double doors.

Once inside, Archer looked around, taking in the sights of a new place, like he usually did. The road he was on went forwards, and split into two different directions, one veering off to the left, to a section with several houses arranged in a circle, and the other one kept going forwards, with two buildings on its right side, before ending at what appeared to be a market district, where several people could be seen making transactions or just chatting. To his right, he saw a Redguard woman sitting at a grinding stone, sharpening a weapon. There was a forge right next to her, and a smelter to go along with it. The building on the left side of the road had a sign out front that read "The Drunken Huntsman".This city looked fairly simple, at a glance. Then, he looked around, and his eyes caught sight of the palace that he was supposed to enter. His jaw swung wide open until he looked like a fish - albeit a reptilian fish - as he took in the gigantic structure. The palace was enormous, and looked ancient, as dark stones made up its large, and undoubtedly thick walls. Wooden and thatched roofs were also seen on the grand palace, and that was all that he could see from his current position. The entire structure was placed on a raised rocky outcropping, and looked over the entire city. From up close, it was no wonder why he could see it from a distance.

"That makes us even," said the Companion man as he walked by Archer. _Typical,_ he thought, watching him leave, _that he'd want to get rid of his debt as soon as possible. _Forgetting about the man, Archer once again looked at the palace. _That_ was where he was supposed to go? Inside _there?_ If the guards out at the gate gave him this much trouble, who's to say that he wouldn't have just as much trouble trying to get in there, let alone request an audience with this Jarl? Maybe they wouldn't even let him cross the bridge. To him, it didn't matter. Somehow, he would find a way in there. The people of Riverwood depended on him for their safety, he couldn't just let them down. He'd have the possible deaths of several people bearing down on his conscience for the rest of his adventuring days, which was something that he would_not_ want to experience. He took in a deep breath, and began his walk towards the giant structure in the distance.

He walked right through the market district, not getting any unwanted attention from the other guards or the city's inhabitants. He stopped at the foot of a large set of stone stairs which led up to an ornate bridge connected to the palace. As he walked up them, he felt a cold breeze brush by him, causing him to shiver. It was cooler than the ones he had felt previously; evidently, he was going up to a higher altitude, and the cool mountain breezes were starting to hit him. He managed to get to the ornate bridge that led to the grand palace's double-door entrance. There was a small moat around the building, but it didn't look nearly deep enough to fend off an attack. _Probably just for decoration_, he presumed, _unless this man is an idiot._ He managed to actually cross the bridge, to his relief, but he was once again stopped right at the double doors to the palace.

"What are you doing here? I thought we had guards out at the gates to stop you people from coming in here," said the guard.

"I am _not_ of the Imperial army," Archer said, very annoyed, "and I got in here because I need to tell the Jarl about Helgen."

The guard inspected him, and said, "Fine. Go in."

Archer was surprised that this guard hadn't even put up that much of an argument against him, but hid it very well. Naturally, Argonians had less control over their facial muscles, unlike the humans and elves. An Argonian's facial expressions were sometimes very subtle, and sometimes even hard to notice. This had led to a long-standing "belief" that Argonians had no emotion, or at least never showed it. Besides, the man probably presumed that if he tried anything, he'd be easily taken care of by the Jarl's royal guard. Taking a deep breath as the guard stepped aside, Archer walked towards the two immense wooden doors that protected the palace's insides. He looked up at the door, and then back down to the handle. He put a hand to the door, and gave it a push. The metal hinges creaked softly as the door opened, and Archer pushed it further, before finally walking into the Jarl's palace

**A/N: Finally, Chapter 2. Sorry if this chapter wasn't exciting enough for you guys, but don't worry, there'll be plenty of action in the chapters to come. Remember to review if you have constructive criticism on a certain matter, or if there's something you liked of the story that I should keep doing!**


	3. Errand Boy

**A/N: Finally, here's chapter three. Sadly, since sweet summer is coming to a close, when the vacations end, I will not be posting as frequently as normal. Don't worry, I won't abandon this story! So far, it already has more reviews than my last one, and I'm only on the third chapter! Let's see if I can keep it up!**

Upon entering the enormous palace, Archer suddenly felt very, very small inside it. He walked up a small set of steps, and was able to see the rest of the room. The main hall was very long, with a fire pit in the center of the room. Two very long tables with fine plates of different foods and silverware flanked either side of the fire pit. Large pillars supported the roof from the inside of the building, and benches were placed next to the inner entrance of the palace, against the wall. At the end of the room was the Jarl's throne himself, with a large Dragon skull hanging on the wall over the Jarl's head.

Doing his best to ignore the ominous dragon skull on the wall, Archer took in a deep breath, and walked towards the Jarl. He seemed to be discussing things with another man next to him, probably his advisor. Finally, he noticed that a Dunmer woman garbed in brown leather armor walking towards him, her sword unsheathed and at the ready, and her other hand with a spell of some sort prepared, ready to be activated at a moment's notice. It is rather easy for one to tell what kind of spell someone has ready, as long as you can identify the energy that circles their hand while the spell is still charged. The green energy that swirled around the woman's hand indicated that she had a spell of the alteration class at the ready, one that would enhance her own abilities in combat.

"What're you doing here?" she asked. "Jarl Balgruuf does not have time for these interruptions. Besides, he's already told you that he's not going to garrison Imperial troops in his city."

"I am not an Imperial soldier!" Archer hissed.

"Then what are you doing here?" she asked. Archer was only glad that she didn't inquire about his armor. Archer straightened himself out, and put his hands up so that she could see that he wasn't carrying weapons. However, that wouldn't make as much of a difference, considering that he still had his natural weapons: sharp claws and teeth could tear a man to ribbons just as easily as a dagger.

"I've come bearing news from Riverwood," he said. "I have to tell the Jarl tha-"

"Might I ask how you came to wear Imperial armor without being an Imperial soldier?" she asked him. Archer simply glared at her. This was a question that he didn't want to have to answer, simply because he hadn't thought of an excuse yet. Certainly, telling the truth would end with his tail being used as a belt, if these people didn't believe him, which they probably wouldn't. Now that he thought of it, it probably wouldn't be beyond these people to do exactly that. He should have thought his plan of action through better.

The woman's eyes focused on him, as if trying to determine if she should kill him right where he stood. These people were always acting like this with him, but that was probably because this was the Jarl's home. Hopefully, he'd only have to deal with people like this for the time being. If he made it out of here alive, that is.

"Irileth, let him be," said a voice with a Nordic accent. The Dunmer looked towards the speaker, the Jarl himself, and she looked back at him, before putting her sword away. Archer looked to the man, and finally began to walk up to him, but did so slowly, in fear of aggravating anyone with sudden movements. He was now in front of the Jarl, only a few feet away.

"So, you were in Helgen, you say?" asked the Jarl. He was leaning lazily on his throne, in an almost unamused fashion, slouched back, and an elbow resting on one arm rest. He looked up at him with eyes full of experience. This man was obviously used to being in control of people. It almost unnerved him, but the dragon skull that was now much closer to him, hanging on the wall a couple of yards from his head, did a better job of that.

"Uh, yes," said Archer, aware of the several pairs of eyes that were on him. "A dragon is on the loose. It attacked Helgen, and destroyed it completely. I saw it burn to the ground myself. Riverwood is in need of aid in case of a dragon attack."

Archer had gotten the man's full attention, as he was now all alert, sitting on the edge of his throne, staring at him. Then, he turned to a man that was standing next to him.

"Well, then?" he asked in an aggressive tone, "What now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My Lord," said Irileth, the hostile Dunmer woman from earlier, "we should send troops to Riverwood immediately."

The advisor said, "My Jarl, we can't send troops to Riverwood, or the Jarl of Falkreath will see this as a provocation, and think that we're siding with Ulfric and attack him. With the Civil war going on, you should not spread your forces too thin, either. We should not-"

"Enough!" the Jarl said, effectively cutting the man off mid-sentence, and making him silent. "I will not stand by idly while a dragon burns my Hold and slaughters my people!" Archer was surprised by the passion this man felt about his people. He had wanted to protect Riverwood initially, but had not done so because out of fear of provoking the Jarl of another hold nearby. Maybe this man wasn't as bad as he thought.

The Jarl turned to his side, and addressed the Dark Elf woman: "Irileth, prepare a detachment of troops to go to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl," she said, dipping her head in respect once before turning and leaving the room. The steward quickly excused himself, and left promptly, leaving Archer alone with the Jarl and two of his body guards. Archer smiled in satisfaction at a job well-done. That's one less thing off his list. The Jarl turned his head towards Archer, smiling.

"You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it," he said. "You sought me out, on your own initiative, to deliver this message. I won't forget it. I'll have my steward here fetch you a reward, for services rendered." He then nodded his head to the steward, and the man then scurried away to another part of the building. At least he'd be getting something out of almost getting run through by an irritable dunmer bodyguard and a guard.

"But I still need your help," said the Jarl. "I have a quest for that is perfect for someone of your…particular talents." Archer looked at him. Another task? He wasn't comfortable with accepting more tasks from people, and he didn't know what "particular talents" the Jarl had in mind, but who was he to turn down a Jarl's request? Certainly not him, considering the fact that this man had power, and he was inside his palace. He didn't want to get on the bad side of the law, so he supposed that he'd have very little choice in the matter.

"Alright. What is it?" asked Archer.

"Come," said the man, standing up. "Let's go fetch my Court-Wizard, Farengar. He'll have use for you." Archer wondered what kind of help the man would be needing. Certainly, he just hoped that he didn't have to do paperwork.

The Jarl led him into a smaller side-room to one side. Inside the room, a desk with books and different magical items were arranged on a few leveled shelves. Archer could identify a soul gem, vials of who-knows what, and a few ingredients whose names he could not pick out placed in small, round wooden bowls. A man clad in purple mage's robes was sitting down behind the desk, reading a book. By the intensity of his focus, this man was obviously immersed into his reading.

"Farengar," the Jarl said. The man immediately looked up from his reading. "I think I've found someone who can aid you in your research." The man looked at Archer, inspecting him. Then the man's eyebrows lifted in realization, and he stood up.

"Ah, yes," the man said, crossing his arms, "you must be referring to my research on the Dragons."

"Just tell him what you need help with," said the Jarl, before walking off. Farengar looked at Archer.

"I could use someone like you. Someone who could fetch something for me," he said. Another fetching task? Archer inwardly sighed, but he listened on.

"Well, when I say 'fetch', I actually mean 'delve into an ancient crypt searching for a stone table that may or may not actually be there." Archer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Was this man insane?! He was not going to risk his life for some stone tablet that, quote, "may or may not actually be there"! He liked adventuring into caves and ruins sometimes, but there was a certain limit where adventuring became too extreme. However, he really didn't want to anger the Jarl, he'd have enough near-death experiences in the few days he's been in Skyrim.

"What on Nirn does this tablet have anything to do with dragons?" Archer asked. The man smiled in an amused fashion.

"Ah, you are not like the mere brutes that the Jarl has assigned me with, but a thinker. A scholar, perhaps?" he asked. He didn't get Archer a chance to answer: "I have recently learned of a new tablet, the tablet that you're retrieving for me: the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow, which contains ancient knowledge on the Dragon burial sites that would prove to be invaluable to my research. That's what I need you to get for me."

"Where exactly would this Dragonstone be?" asked Archer. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too far inside the Barrow, if he was to retrieve it.

"Well, given the Draugr's tendencies, it will no doubt be hidden somewhere inside the main chamber, deep into the heart of the Barrow, protected by Draugr." Farengar said. Of course. How could he except any less? Sure, just pull some random passerby to get a stone in an undoubtedly dangerous ancient tomb, he'll get the job done!

Archer sighed; as long as he kept hidden, he shouldn't alert many of those creatures that Farengar had mentioned, Draugr. He didn't know what Draugr were; usually, goblins and skeletons inhabited many of Cyrodiil's ruins, and those were mostly easy to kill, given their lack of wits, and in some cases, lack of brain matter. In any case, those all went down with ease, given his usually-hidden position in the shadows, and his aim with a bow. All he had to do was get there.

"Okay then…how do I get there?" Archer asked. The Court-Wizard seemed to think for a moment.

Then, he spoke: "I believe that there's a few roads from Riverwood leading up the mountain leading to the Barrow. I'm sure that if need be, you could get one of the locals to point out a direction to you."

Who in Riverwood would know the direction to Bleak Falls Barrow? Nobody that he knew of, that was for sure. He did remember seeing a fork in the road on his trip to Whiterun from Riverwood, he might as well check there, if anything. This would certainly prove to be a challenge to him, having to go up a mountain and brave fierce, cold winds as he travelled there. A fact that he, along with probably every single other Argonian, and a few non-Argonians too, was his dislike for the cold. Argonians probably disliked it most, being cold-blooded. The cold would make him sluggish, and lose energy. Hopefully, the cold wouldn't penetrate deeply into the Barrow; fighting in such a state would be a death sentence for him. He'd have to buy himself a cloak to get up there in the first place.

"Alright, I'll get to it," Archer said reluctantly.

"That's good," said the Court-Mage, "the sooner, the better, am I right?" Archer didn't answer, and simply turned to leave. As he was walking towards the main entrance of the fortress, to leave, the Jarl's steward caught up to him. He stopped Archer, holding something inside his hand.

"Your reward," said the steward, extending his hand towards the Argonian, revealing a silver ring with a pale, purple gemstone implanted on the band. Archer took it, and inspected it on him hand.

"A ring?" Archer asked, looking back up to him.

"It's not just any ring," said the steward, "it's enchanted." Magic could not only be used actively in combat, but they could also be implanted into weapons and armor, and even jewelry items, to render them more powerful. Swords could be enchanted to burn your foes with magically-conjured fire in each strike, and armor could be enchanted to make the effect of certain spells more powerful, for example. Curious, Archer put it on. Certainly, there was a certain feel to it, a sort of energy leaking out into him, but he didn't feel any much different.

"What enchantment?" asked Archer. He was no expert at enchanted weapons, he'd used not that many in his life, with the exception of enchanted daggers to make them retain their sharpness, but he knew that this ring currently wasn't having that much of an effect on him.

"An enchantment that you'll certainly find useful," the steward said, crossing his arms, "a Resist Frost enchantment. Obviously, since we're surrounded by the heat of the fire pit there, you wouldn't feel much different in body warmth, but you'll notice it when the conditions are favorable." Archer looked back down at the ring, the tiny little enchanted piece of metal that would help keep off the cold. Certainly, if it could do that, then he wouldn't need to buy a cloak. It was a good thing, too. He needed all the money he could get at the moment, considering that he had barely any because of his "incident" with the Empire in Helgen. He may not have had enough money to buy a cloak anyways. Hopefully, the dungeon he'd be venturing into would have valuable items he could sell for a good price. Archer looked back to the man.

"Thank you," he said, putting the ring in his bag. With that, he turned to leave, with Riverwood being the next destination in mind.

…

By the time he made it to Riverwood, it was already late, with the sun having disappeared over the snowy heads of the mountain peaks in the distance, the sun's lights creating what looked like a glowing halo over the mountains' heads. His eyes drew towards the Riverwood trader. He had forgotten about staying in Whiterun so that they could tell him the whereabouts of the Bandits, but he'd have to ask them about that later, when he finished the Jarl's quest. The nights in Skyrim were naturally colder from the lack of a sun in the sky. Archer was already feeling its effects; he was feeling slower, and a bit drowsy. He'd not been doing things long or strenuous enough to cause him fatigue, so the outside chill was probably doing that to him. He decided to go to the Inn for the night, maybe they'd also know how he could get to Bleak Falls Barrow. He walked over to the Inn - the Sleeping Giant Inn, they called it - and opened the door. Immediately, he was greeted with the welcoming sensation of a warm fire pit blazing inside the center of the room, the heat seeping into his body, warming his scales comfortably. He was drawn to it, and began to walk towards it, already feeling better with the fire. The sound of a bard playing a Lute caught his attention, a cheerful melody that was pleasant to listen to. He stood in front of the fire, putting his hands out so that they could absorb the heat, rubbing them occasionally. When he'd had enough, he walked over to the Inn manager, and asked to stay a night at the Inn.

"Sure thing, it's yours for the day," said the man. "Your room's that one," he said as he handed Archer a key, which Archer accepted. He turned to go to his room, but stopped abruptly.

Turning on the spot, Archer asked, "By the way, could you tell me of any roads that I could take to get to Bleak Falls Barrow?"

The Nord owner looked at him strangely, but answered: "Yeah…there's a road that splits off the main bridge road to Whiterun that heads North, up to the Barrow."

"Thanks," Archer said, before finally turning and going into his room.

…

Archer had awoken early in the morning to get a head start on his mission, and because he wanted to be able to get to Whiterun and then to Riverwood to finally finish everything he'd "volunteered" to do by today. As he trekked up the mountain path, which was actually just a mildly worn-out path, indication of the few amount of people or creatures that lived up here, the air began to get colder. The warm breakfast he'd had earlier that morning was the only thing keeping him warm at the point, but that was quickly losing its potency, and with it, his own energy. The winds were starting to pick up, going from simple breezes that were becoming more occasional to strong winds that whipped past him. Bits of snow began to fall from the sky, but it was only a light frost. Regardless, they were just as unpleasant, and he was starting to rethink having agreed to this job.

"Gods, why does Skyrim have to be so cold," he grumbled to himself as he pushed onwards, his footsteps underneath changing their sound as he walked from a dirt floor onto a snowy slope. "Wait a minute…" he said. He quickly reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out the Jarl's ring. He quickly put it on, and sighed in relief when he felt the ring's magical effects ward off the effect of the cold. Thank the gods for magic, he thought. Re-energized, he quickened his pace, being careful not to fatigue himself in climbing the mountain as he did so. Just because he felt like he had more energy didn't mean he should waste it.

Suddenly, he saw a figure in the distance. He crouched low to the floor. It was a man, sure enough, and he was casually leaning against a tree. He was beside a large stone tower on the side of the mountain, and his eyes were scanning the surrounding area. He wore different animal furs wrapped around his body, still leaving parts of his body exposed. Obviously, this man was a bandit. The bandit hadn't seen him yet, which was probably why he kept looking around. This wasn't just one lone bandit, he probably had backup somewhere, probably either patrolling, or inside the tower. Archer knew that he wouldn't let him by without trouble, so he'd have to kill him. Archer sighed, and slowly pulled out his bow. He had killed people before, in the past, when he would go out adventuring with his father on his adventures. Just because he had killed people before, however, didn't mean he necessarily liked it.

It wasn't the same as killing an Elk or Deer. When he hunted, he didn't feel remorse for the deer, because he needed to survive, and for him to live, the deer had to die. However, Archer never liked killing people. They weren't animals, they were people. It didn't matter if they wanted to kill him or not, he simply didn't like it. He'd kill, and he would usually not regret it, but he'd prefer to shoot deer than men any day; it weighed easier on his conscience.

He took out an arrow, and loaded his bow. He pulled back the string, and aimed his sights on the bandit's head. One clean arrow to the head would end him silently, and quickly. He fired, and the arrow flew through the air, nearly invisible. It finally struck, and the arrow penetrated the man between the eyes. The man went rigid, and his head was rocked back from the force of the arrow. Archer saw him finally slump to the ground, dead. He loaded another arrow, and waited. Sure enough, another bandit came out, this one barely wearing any sort of clothing on his chest, holding an iron sword in one hand. He saw his comrade's dead body, and called out an alarm. Archer let go of the bowstring, and a sudden shift in wind speed took place just as he did so. The bandit cried in pain, clutching the arrow in his shoulder. Cursing, Archer loaded another arrow, and took out the second bandit. A third and fourth bandit, probable the last ones, barreled out of the doorway from the stone tower, and looked around. One of them was a Nord archer, a longbow clutched in their hand, an arrow at the ready, and the other was an Orc wearing a full set of Iron body armor, an iron axe in hand, a shield on his left arm.

The archer spotted him surprisingly easily, and fired at Archer. Archer got behind a rock to avoid the arrow, but it had been poorly aimed to begin with, he may not have gotten hit even if he didn't move. He heard the other bandit's heavy armor clanking as he ran at him. Archer loaded an arrow, and popped out of his cover, releasing the arrow. The arrow flew, and hit the archer in the chest, killing him instantly. The Orc, however, had finally caught up to him, and swung his axe at Archer. Archer jumped back just in time to avoid getting hit by the axe. The Orc swung in the opposite direction, and Archer ducked to avoid getting hit. Archer pulled out his sword, prepared to engage the bandit in a sword fight. The bandit swung his axe up high, and Archer caught it with his sword in mid air. The bandit pulled his axe back and swung once more, this time catching Archer on his arm, making a bleeding wound.

"No one bests an Orc!" shouted the bandit as he swung his sword again. Archer avoided it with some difficulty, and prepared to dodge another strike. Fighting this man was proving to be fruitless. How would he defeat a bandit in a full set of iron armor? He then remembered something very useful: his magic. Archer had experience with the magical School of Destruction Magic, the magic class that used any of three magically-conjured destructive elements to battle: Fire, Ice, and Shock. His mother personally disliked magic, but his father, on the other hand, taught Archer personally how to use destruction magic in battle. It was always useful when his sword skills wouldn't help him, much like in this situation. Archer racked his memory for the magic words of a basic shock spell he had learned early on. Finally chanting out the words, he felt and saw the blue electrical energy swirl around his hand and fingertips. He put his palm facing the man, and pushed the magic towards the bandit's direction.

The electricity flew out from Archer's outstretched palm towards the bandit, and finally stuck. The Orc yelled in pain as the burning electricity hit him and coursed through his entire body. The electricity prevented the muscles from contracting, which meant that the bandit was essentially frozen on the spot, hopeless. Normally, such a basic spell wouldn't be this effective, but the bandit was covered in metal, and the electricity's power was magnified by this. Archer let off on the magic, and the bandit finally fell to the floor, twitching slightly as the electricity still lingered. Archer looked at the wound on his arm, which was now bleeding less profusely. He muttered a few magical words, the words to a basic healing spell that his father had taught him, and the magic in his hand became yellow, and bright. Releasing the magic, Archer sighed in relief as the wound on his arm began to heal itself, regrowing skin and scales and healing muscles at an astounding rate. The wound faded into non-existence. While not particularly trained in Restoration magic, it was certainly useful. Sighing, Archer grabbed the Orc bandit's coin purse, and took the gold he had on him; he certainly wouldn't be needing it where he would be going.

...

Archer kept walking up the mountain, his feet shuffling through the blanket of snow that had formed on the mountain top. The snow fall went from a light frost to a heavy snowstorm, and the winds turned from frequent breezes to cold winds of ice that mercilessly whipped him as he walked along. It was at this point that he felt thankful for having been given an enchanted ring. Finally, he looked up, and through the powerful and ice-filled winds that viciously flew by, he could see the looming figure of the Barrow ahead. It was large, and its architectural style was of a strange design, probably ancient Nordic, with its dark stone arches and pillars jutting out from the ground, contrasting greatly against the stark white snow. A large set of stone steps led up to the entrance of the Barrow, what seemed to be a large metal door.

Just then, he thought: This would be a perfect place for bandits to hide out at. Not deciding to take any chances, he got behind the nearest pillar, and scanned the Barrow from behind his cover. The snow and wind was making things more difficult for him, but luckily, visibility would work both ways. Just then, he saw a figure moving across the steps, and then another one, standing idly on a stone catwalk of some sort. One bandit was walking towards him, down the steps, but the bandit hadn't seen him yet. Archer loaded an arrow in his bow, and waited for the bandit to get close. The bandit was only a few yards away now. Archer pulled back on his bowstring, and aimed at the bandit's heart. However, instead of letting the arrow fly, he relaxed the bowstring. The bandit would probably die, but his friends would all see his dead body, and know that something was amiss. Putting his bow away, he looked around the floor, and grabbed a stone. He pulled his arm back, and, silently praying that his plan would work, he chucked the stone at the Bandit.

The bandit immediately began to look around, but didn't call out in alarm. Instead, he just looked at Archer's general direction. He then began to walk towards him, sword in hand. The bandit suddenly stopped a few feet away from the pillar. Then, he jumped out, and swung his sword, only to have it strike the pillar. Confused, he looked around. Surely, no wind could pick up and throw a stone, right? He couldn't have just been imagining things.

Just then, Archer got behind the man, and slashed his throat open with his iron dagger. The Bandit made a sort of choking sound as his windpipe was cut open, but he was quickly silenced as he died. Archer dragged the body behind the pillar, and then began to creep closer to the Barrow, and the other bandits. He saw one that was leaning against a large stone pillar, and another that was still looking over the clearing. Archer took out his bow, and loaded an arrow, aiming at the head of the Bandit that was leaning against the pillar. He fired, and the bandit went down silently, with the exception of the sound its dead body made when it made impact with the floor.

The sound was enough to alert the last Bandit, who immediately drew their bow. Archer loaded another arrow, and shot the Bandit. The arrow went right through the Bandit's chest and, by Archer's calculations, through his heart. The Bandit fell backwards, dead. Archer looked around, looking to see if any other bandits came by. None did, so Archer put away his bow. He sighed, but immediately regret it as the cold air went into his lungs, and he looked at the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow. He walked up to it, and looked up at the great door.

Okay…let's go, Archer thought, before pushing open the door to the temple.

The inside of the Temple's first room was somewhat dark, with the only source of light in the room being the occasional candle and the fireplace in the center of the room. Two Bandits were sitting around the fire place, talking. From what Archer could hear, one of their gang members went deep into the temple, alone. The conversation wasn't particularly interesting to Archer, so he unloaded his arrows onto the two bandits. The first bandit got shot in the back of the head, and the second one got shot before they could stand up. Archer walked up to their bodies, checking to see if they were still alive. Once he confirmed his kills, Archer looked around their campsite. He saw a chest in the corner, and walked over to it. Maybe there would be something inside there that could help me, Archer thought. Getting on one knee, Archer took out a pick, and inserted it into the lock. He fiddled around with the pick, rotating it one direction, then moving the lock, only to have his pick snapped. He cursed, and tried again. He moved the pick a bit to one side, and turned the lock slightly. The lock moved a bit, then he heard the lock click into place. With a triumphant grin, Archer opened the chest, and went through its contents. These Bandits haven't really gotten many things off of travelers; they've only managed to get a few potions and some gold. He grabbed those, and then made his way through a hallway.

The hallway, however, was covered in cobwebs, and a thin film of the white stuff was hung around the circumference of the hallway. Not thick enough to completely block his path, but still, Archer hesitated. Finally, to his disgust, he walked through them. He made it through the last cobweb, and he practically jumped away from them once he got through the last one. He shuddered as he wiped off the remaining bits of web; he hoped that he wouldn't have to fight any spiders. Walking on, he inspected the inside of the temple. There were burial urns here and there, on top of tables, on shelves, and on the floor, some were more decorative than others, but they were all coated in a film of dust. He wasn't a graverobber, and he didn't feel like he'd want to defile any of these Nord's resting places by searching through them for gold that people would put in them.

He turned a corner, and caught sight of a lone Bandit holding a torch standing in the middle of the next room. He was behind a lever, and in front of him was a grated door. Archer didn't have a good shot on him, so he decided to sneak in a little closer. Crouched low to the floor, his legs bent, and his hands holding his bow, an arrow in place, Archer walked forwards, closer to the bandit. The poor fool wouldn't even know he was here. The bandit walked up to the lever, and put down his torch on the side, before pulling the lever. Immediately, darts began to fly out of small holes on top of the grate door, towards them. A dart hit the bandit, and the man yelped in pain, before beginning to convulse violently on the floor. Archer's eyes widened in the split-seconds before the darts flew at him. He jumped back in alarm, which wouldn't have saved his life, but luckily, he had been far enough away from the kill zone that they wouldn't have hit him. However, he wasn't able to avoid getting hit; one dart hit the floor, but rebounded against the stone, and hit his leg.

Archer hissed, and looked at the dart. Grimacing, he grabbed ahold of the dart and pulled it out of his leg. He tossed aside the dart, and began to tend to his minor wound. He looked to the dead bandit's body, and saw that the man had died from only one dart. Probably poisoned, Archer guessed. It was at times like this that he thanked the Divines for making him an Argonian, having a greater natural resistance to poisons than most other races. Finally healing up, he then looked at the grated door. He'd have to get through there, but he didn't want to risk being skewered with poison darts. Just because he had poison resistance didn't mean he was poison-proof. He looked around for anything that might help him get through the door. He saw a set of steps leading up to thee animal motifs carved onto stones, probably just for decoration. He kept looking around, until his eyes rested on three pedestals, each of them also having animal carvings on them. Maybe they have something to do with each other...

The answer hit him so hard, he almost fell over.

He walked over to the pedestals, and arranged them into the order that corresponded with the carvings on the high wall: Snake, Snake, Whale. He then walked up to the lever, and looked up at the dart-holes. Surely, they'd have more than one supply of darts ready to be fired. He grabbed the lever, and braced himself, before pulling it back. There was a metallic grinding sound, and the metal grate lifted upwards, allowing him to progress. Satisfied with himself, Archer walked onwards, his bow in hand. He walked ahead, and saw a set of spiraling wooden stairs descending to a lower level, which he followed. Once down the stairs, he then looked out to the next hallway, and saw more cobwebs. He sighed, and managed to push through a few more of the cobwebs that he so hated to see. Where there were cobwebs, there were spiders. He hadn't seen any yet, maybe he wouldn't find any.

"…is that you guys?" Archer heard a voice with a Dunmer accent say. "Come over here and help me!" That must be the bandit that went in here alone, Archer thought. He walked ahead, and turned to see a room full of cobwebs. On the ceiling, the walls, and on the floor, there were spider webs that adorned the stone room as if there were some sort of high-class noble party going on, one of the ones that he'd heard about, but never actually been to one. He wasn't exactly a noble, or high-class, nor did he want to be. He was fine the way he was right now, with the exception of having to go into a large room full of spider webs. The door in front of him was completely covered in spider webs, this time they were thick enough so that he had to hack away at it with his sword. The web was destroyed relatively easily, and he walked through. He shuddered as he looked around at all the spider webs. He was seriously starting to rethink agreeing to this job.

"Hey! Over here!" said the voice from before. Archer turned his head to look at the voice's owner, a Dunmer man wearing hide armor. "Please, get me out of here!" he pleaded, struggling to break free of his bonds, a large film of spider webbing. Archer began to walk towards the man, to question him.

"Look out!" shouted the Dunmer man, but Archer barely had time to register it, before he saw an enormous shadow on the floor, where he was standing. Something very large and heavy landed with a thud in front of him, almost crushing him, had he not jumped out of the way in time. He got up, and turned to meet his new foe. His eyebrows rose, his eyes widened, and he was left agape as he stared at the giant Frostbite Spider from Oblivion that was standing in front of him. Frostbite spiders are common in some of Skyrim's underground caverns and even old tombs, such as this one. Frostbite spiders are actually very large, being as large as a large dog, sometimes bigger. Some of them, however, happen to grow to gargantuan sizes, even larger than men and some beasts, like bears.

Archer screamed, and ran to the door. The spider chased after him, and crashed against the small door frame when Archer ran through it. Archer got to one side of the door, and the spider began to screech and began to bite the air with its mandibles, equipped with several sharp, barbed tips and dripping with green venom. He had a hand to his chest, and felt that his heart was beating quickly. He was breathing very fast, and tried to calm himself down by breathing slower. Gods above, he absolutely hated spiders. He refused to fight them in close combat, even in the Helgen caves; Ralof had to fight them almost alone, while Archer picked them off with his arrows. The Spider seemed to give up, and turned to the dunmer man. Archer heard the man shriek in a pitch at least thee octaves higher than what would be considered normal. Archer knew that he had to kill that spider, and regardless whether he was a bandit or not, he'd rather not see someone get eaten by a giant spider. Archer took out an arrow, took a deep breath, and jumped out of his cover, shooting the giant spider in the abdomen.

The spider screeched, and turned to Archer, who almost ran again in fear. The spider then parted its mandibles, and launched a sickly green ball of frostbite venom at Archer, an ability that the spiders were infamous for. Archer avoided the venom, and fired another arrow, hitting the spider in the thorax this time, where its body armor was thicker, causing the iron-tipped arrow to bounce off its chitin exoskeleton. The spider then rushed at Archer, and Archer jumped out of the way, but in the wrong direction. Now, the Spider was blocking his only exit from the room, and his only escape. He knew he wasn't going to penetrate the spider's thick armor, so Archer put away his bow, but didn't take out a sword. Instead, he chanted a few magical words, and blue electricity swirled around his palm and fingertips. He unleashed the magic at the spider, and electricity flew through the air towards the spider. The electricity hit the spider, and charred its exoskeleton, causing the spider to shriek in pain, before charging at Archer. Archer ran away from it, zapping it with magically-conjured electricity, but the spider did not relent.

"Kill it! Kill it!" shouted the trapped man. Archer had half a mind to tell him to shut up, but then he'd have to draw his focus away form the spider, which would certainly end up with him dead. Another bolt of lighting hit the spider, but it merely lunged at him again. How do I kill something covered in protective armor? Archer thought. He thought back to the Orc bandit in iron armor. Certainly, Iron armor would be around the same thickness as the spider's armor, maybe thicker in some spots, but his attempts to shock the creature like he had done to the bandit had so far failed, given that the spider's armor wasn't made of metal. He looked to his small amassment of weapons, and saw that he had his iron sword at his hip, which he had refused to draw against the spider. He got an idea, but he was extremely reluctant to use it. The spider leaped at him again, and Archer dove out of the way, almost getting hit this time. Well, he thought, it's do or die, and I will certainly not die here. He pulled out his sword, and kept some electricity in his left hand, staring down the spider. The spider chittered, and twitched its mandibles hungrily. It then screeched, and charged.

Despite all his instincts, Archer charged right at the spider. He then screeched to a halt, and jumped back to avoid getting hit by the spider's mandibles, leaving the spider right in front of him. Then, with a grunt, he stabbed his iron sword straight into the spider's head, digging in most of the blade. The spider shrieked, and reared its head up. Instead of letting go, as Archer had intended, he kept a death grip on the sword, and ended up getting on top of the spider's head. The spider then began to try and throw him off, bucking like a wild stallion would do to a rookie horse tamer. Hanging on for dear life, Archer then angled his left hand, the one with electricity, towards the sword. He then released the magic, and the electricity flowed into the sword. The electricity went through the sword, and inside the spider, hitting its insides. The spider let out an earsplitting shriek of pain, and convulsed painfully. It still managed to find the energy and willpower to keep trying to throw Archer off of its head.

It finally fell down with a thud, electricity still coursing through its body. Archer got off of it quickly, and looked to confirm his kill. It twitched one leg once, and then it remained still, never to move again. Archer stared for a few more moments, and then sighed in relief, putting a hand to his forehead. He walked up to the spider's body and retrieved his sword, the blade now wet with the spider's blood.

"Great, you killed it! Now can you get me down from here?" asked the dunmer bandit. Archer walked up to him, but he put away his sword.

"Why should I do that?" asked Archer. "You're a bandit, you've probably done lots of bad deeds in your "career", maybe I should just end you here and now," he added, now baring his sharp, deadly teeth, capable of killing a man as easily as a dagger could.

The man's eyes widened in fear, and he pleaded: "No, please! Let me go! If you do, I'll…" he said, thinking over his offer to Archer for letting him live. Finally he settled for saying, "I'll share the treasure with you! The treasure at the end of this temple! I know how to get through to there!" Archer contemplated his offer for a moment. If he got to the treasure, then he could have lots of loot, and still accomplish his task. He could just have the bandit at sword point the entirety of the trip, so he thought, Why not?

Archer raised his sword, and cut through the spider web with ease, the white webbing providing little resistance. The last bind was cut, and the man fell down. Getting back up he looked at Archer, who had his sword at the man's chest. The man smiled, and then turned and ran, faster than Archer could register. Archer blinked once, and when he finally realized what happened, he growled, and gave chase after the bandit. Archer was fast, but the bandit was too, as he proved to be very fleet-footed. Archer chased him into a coffin room, and the bandit kept running. Archer heard a click, and all of a sudden, a spiked wall appeared from seemingly nowhere, and slammed into the man. The man died instantly, and his dead body flew backwards several feet. Archer looked at his dead body, and would have laughed at such a humorous misfortune, but his attention was averted towards the sound of bones creaking.

He looked to one side, and saw a shockingly vile creature. It wasn't a live man, but it wasn't a skeleton, yet it was most certainly undead. It was essentially a walking corpse, its bones visible from underneath its brown, paper like skin. It had eerie blue, glowing eyes that stared right into his soul. Its bony, claw-like fingers held a sort of war axe on its right hand, but it was of a strange design. It was black and purple, with a white bladed edge. This must be one of those draugr that Farengar had mentioned. One of the creatures growled something through its ancient vocal chords, sounding like wind whistling through an ancient cave, and charged at Archer, its axe raised high. Archer blocked the axe with his sword at the last moment, and drove his sword through its neck. The draugr's eyes ceased glowing blue, and Archer pulled his sword out of its neck. The body fell down, unmoving, and Archer faced the other two Draugr.

They growled at him in their ancient, guttural language, and advanced on him. Archer quickly picked up the dead Draugr's axe, and held it in his left hand, ready to fight both blades off with two weapons, but honestly, he hadn't a clue what he was doing. One draugr swung its black sword at him, and Archer hit it in mid-swing with his own, driving it away, before hitting the other one's axe in mid-swing as well. He swung his sword towards the second draugr, but it didn't go down yet. It swung its axe horizontally, trying to cleave Archer's head right from his body, but Archer ducked in time to avoid it. Archer swung both his axe at the draugr's leg, causing it to stumble, and them swung his sword right after, catching it on the neck, and ending it. Archer then turned his attention to the last draugr, who swung its sword at Archer in an overhead motion. Archer avoided it, not trusting in his own abilities to parry the blow, and tried to strike the draugr, but his sword only met the thing's chest plate, causing it no harm. It was times like these that he cursed his own lack of skill in sword fights. The draugr growled, and swung its sword once more, almost hitting Archer this time.

Archer tried to look for a moment of vulnerability on the Draugr, but he couldn't find one. Then, the Draugr raised its sword high, giving Archer an opportunity to strike. He swung his sword low, and hit the draugr in the back of its foot, causing it to fall backwards. Archer finished it off with a slice to its neck. Archer looked around, seeing if any more came out of the coffins, but none did. Sheathing his sword, his eyes caught sight of the bandit. There was a noticeably large bulge in his pocket, and…was is gleaming in the light?

Archer walked over, and pulled the shiny object out of the bandit's pocket. His eyebrows rose in realization, as he looked at the Golden Claw, the ornament that the Riverwood Trader got taken from them. In his honest opinion, it actually looked nothing like a dragon's claw. Maybe a chicken's. There were also three decorative animal carvings on the claw, depicting three creatures on it.

He smiled at his fortune, knowing that he'd be able to kill two birds with one stone. He pocketed the ornament, and looked around. He saw another exit to this room, where the heart of the temple lay, he knew. He had gotten this far, and no undead creatures were going to stop him. He pulled out his bow once more, and began to walk through the hallway, avoiding the trap panel as he did so. He hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with any more spiders in the rooms to come.


	4. Ancient Power Unbound

**Here we go, Chapter 4! I'm sorry to say, however, that this is going to be the last chapter that I post in a little bit. Since school is just around the corner, I'm going to have less time to write, but just be patient, alright? Enjoy.**

It was around morning when the Jarl had asked all his guards to group at Dragonsreach's main hall. Currently, all the guards inside the fortress had done so in a very short amount of time, as was to be expected. Guards were expected to be at their best, always. Anything less would look bad on their part. To neglect following a direct order, from the Jarl himself, nonetheless, would certainly have a bad impact on the guard that had been foolish enough to do so. This was why Lydia had already been standing in line before most other guards had even gotten into the room.

As they stood, the guards began to shift nervously amongst themselves. Lydia listened to their worries and to what they thought was the reason why they had all been called to the main hall. Why was the Jarl calling them to the main hall? Was something wrong? Did the commander not make it out of the healer? Maybe the Jarl was going to lay someone off their job. If that were the case, then he wouldn't need to bring the rest of the guards to attention. Maybe, it had to do with the Civil War that was going on. Was the Empire going to attack Whiterun? Or maybe it was a Stormcloak threat? These were the questions that she heard the guards ask amongst themselves while they waited.

Lydia didn't worry, but she couldn't help but feel a tinge of nervousness at the sudden need for an address from the Jarl. Whatever it was, the Jarl must have had a reason to have to tell them all at once, and at the earliest possible moment in the day when they weren't still sleeping. Certainly, it was big news, but what could it possibly be? Whatever it was, she thought, she knew that if it came down to defending Whiterun, then she'd protect her home with all her might. As she looked at her comrades, she knew that she wouldn't be the only one.

Finally, the Jarl himself walked into the room from the steps leading up to the second floor. His every-loyal housecarl Irileth trailed behind him only a few feet away. The Jarl walked over to his throne, and carefully sat down. Irileth stood at his side, arms crossed, her red eyes inspecting every guard's face right through their helmets, as if they were never there. The Jarl's eyes did the same, looking over his loyal men and, in the case of Lydia, woman.

Finally, he spoke: "Good morning," he said very curtly. "I trust you all slept well?"

There was a murmur of "yes" and "yeah" and "aye" in the room.

"That is good to hear," said the Jarl. There was a pause.

"I know what you're all wondering: Why are we here?" he said. "Why did the Jarl bring us to his attention? I'll tell you all why." He sat straight now, his arms resting on the arms of his chair. "What I'm about to tell you is very difficult, but it is the truth. An impossibly terrible truth, but the truth nonetheless."

He took a deep breath.

"Helgen has been attacked and destroyed," said the Jarl. There were a few gasps of surprise and "what?" 's of shock from the Jarl's men. "Now, I know that this shouldn't concern us, given that Helgen is not near Whiterun," the Jarl continued, "but Helgen wasn't attacked by Stormcloaks. It wasn't attacked by men at all. It wasn't even attacked by mer."

"What attacked Helgen?" asked one of the guards, voicing the question that was inside every single one of the guards's minds at the moment.

The Jarl looked at him gravely for a moment, before saying, "Helgen was attacked…by a dragon."

The room fell into silence.

"A...dragon, Sir?" said one unsure guard.

"Indeed, I'm afraid," said the Jarl. "All of the town's guarding force was decimated, and the town itself was left in ruins, beyond repair."

"Are you sure that it was a dragon?" asked a brave guard, brave enough to question the Jarl.

"A messenger came from Helgen," said the Jarl, "and he told me that Helgen had been attacked by a dragon. When scouts were sent to investigate, they reported seeing the entire town burnt, yet there was no sign of a Stormcloak camp. There hadn't been any rain in that area, and nothing suggested a forest fire either. They also reported seeing men torn in half brutally. With all the evidence, I'd have to believe that a dragon did indeed destroy Helgen." Immediately, there was clamor amongst the guards.

"A dragon? In Skyrim?"

"It destroyed Helgen!"

"By the gods, this can't get any worse!"

"Wait a minute!" said one guard. Everyone piped down, and turned their heads to the guard who had spoken: Lydia. "I thought dragons didn't exist. Why are they here now?" she asked.

The Jarl looked down, and said, "I can't tell you that, because I do not know." The Jarl stood up.

"Yes, it is true that dragons haven't been around for several hundred years, but for whatever reason, they've come back. Now, it is up to you all to defend Whiterun against the rising threat. I have utmost trust in all of you, and I have no doubt that you will do everything in your power to keep these dragons away. Our ancestors from the olden times were able to do it, so why can't we?" asked the Jarl. Every guard looked at each other, unsure. The Jarl looked at his men, and said, "That will be all."

With that, the guards all walked out, and went to their posts. Lydia walked towards the great doors that led out of Dragonsreach to where she'd stand at her post, in the market square. All the while, her mind was buzzing with questions. How could there be dragons in Skyrim? They couldn't just come back after such a long period of being simply legends! This was all so surreal, she kept asking herself the same questions. So far, she had no answer for them, so she set them aside for another time. Honestly, she was a bit scared. Dragons were always large and powerful in the legends, and the most feared creatures in all of Tamriel. She had heard that they were even immortal. How would they kill something immortal?

She shook her head; there was no way she would allow a dragon to destroy her home. She knew that if a dragon came by to burn Whiterun, it would probably have to deal with more than it bargained for. Whiterun's troops were top-notch, and aside from that, it'd have to deal with Whiterun's very own Companions, a group of trained fighters that get called on wherever they're needed. Certainly, they'd be able to take down a dragon.

Well, Lydia could only hope.

…

_I hate these damned things_, Archer thought as he made an arrow pincushion out of another draugr. He had run out of his own meager supply of iron arrows, and had taken to using the Ancient Nordic ones the draugr sometimes used._ I hate them, I hate them, I them, I hate them…_ Another draugr charged at him, and was put down with little difficulty. Just how many of these gods-damned things were there? This was getting tedious, and tiring. The last draugr fell dead to his blade, and he looked around for a moment, expecting another one to come out at him. Seeing no immediate threat, he sheathed his weapons, panting.

"I hate these things, why can't the undead stay dead?" he said to himself. Nobody really knows how the undead came to be, specifically the draugr. Possibly some sort of unending, ancient magic that brings corpses back to life to defend their fellow kinsmen's graves from potential robbers. Maybe they were lost souls, trapped on the mortal plane with no option but wandering aimlessly around their crypt, hoping for someone to end their afterlife.

However, Archer was not going to feel pity for these things. They were abominations, and he had no problem with exterminating them, but if he was going to be sent on an undead killing spree, then he'd like to have some assistance, at least.

Finally feeling as good as he was going to get, he walked on. How long had he been in here? Maybe an hour, maybe a day, he couldn't tell. It was difficult to tell the time when you weren't outside. His body clock registered tiredness, but that could just be fatigue from the extensive fighting that he had done in the crypt during his time here. He had braved swinging axe traps, survived almost blowing himself up with a lamp suspended over a giant puddle of spilled lamp oil, and fought back surprise draugr ambushes. He had searched every room he had encountered, pocketing anything that he deemed valuable, yet he didn't find anything that would resemble what Farengar wanted.

A part of him wanted to go back, but he knew that he'd have to go through everything else, and the result would probably be a longer trip out. Another part of him, however, told him to keep pushing forwards, for the sake of excitement. He knew his adventurer side all too well, and he knew better than to ignore it.

He moved onwards, intent on finishing the task, both to finally finish his duties in Skyrim and to discover the secret of Bleak Falls Barrow. He still had that Bandit's Golden Claw, which he still didn't see how it would be useful in any situation. It was just an ordinary decoration, nothing more.

He came across a curious door. It was made of metal, and had a metallic circle in the layered panels made up the circular section. Each panel had the symbol of a moth, an owl, and a bear. He saw that the center of the round section had a small circle, with a strange indentation. That looks like it could fit the claw, Archer thought. He reached back to his pocket, and drew out the golden ornament. He put the claw into the indentation, where it fit perfectly. Then, he turned the claw, which, to his surprise, was exactly like turning a key in a doorknob, and stepped back, expecting something to happen. Nothing did.

He looked back to the door, and then to the claw. He had seen those markings on the door before, but where? He took back the claw, and inspected the animal carvings. There were also three of those animals on the claw, like the ones on the door.

Maybe…he thought, before going to one of the circular segments. He put his hand to it, and was surprised to find that the segments were movable panels. He shifted the panel with a bear on it, and it changed to being a moth. Having his suspicions confirmed, Archer worked on matching the figures on the door with the ones engraved on the claw. When he was finally done, he put the claw in the indentation again, and turned it.

The entire door shuddered, and then, dust billowed out as the ancient and untouched door finally moved for the first time in possibly centuries. Dust rose to Archer's nose, and he began to sniffle. Then, he began to sneeze very loudly, and uncontrollably, coughing a bit as well. The dust finally subsided, and Archer wiped his nose. He grabbed the golden claw from the floor, where it had fallen from the erratic vibration of the door, and walked through the door.

The first thing that registered in his mind was that the room he just entered was very, very large, and wasn't actually a room. It was a very large cavern. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, little droplets of water dripped from their black tips to the floor, collecting into a puddle. Stalagmites grew like trees, rising towards the ceiling like plants to light. He heard the sound of a small stream rippling over the rocks, fed from some underground water source.

He looked to the end of the cavern, and saw the only thing that proved that this room was also built in by men: a black coffin, flanked by some tables, and a large, curved, white wall with some sort of stylized creature depicted on top. Seeing no other exits leading to another room, Archer walked towards the burial area in the middle. Some bats flew overhead, squeaking at Archer, flying out through the hole in the roof. Archer wasn't fazed by them, and walked onwards.

Once he reached the coffin, he looked around. There were some tables with shelves, and a nearby chest. He looked inside the chest, and saw a few items of considerable value: a large steel battle axe, which he left, a potion of invisibility, a dusty garnet gemstone, some gold, and a magic scroll. He took the magical items, gemstone, and the gold. He looked through the chest, but still, no Dragonstone.

Archer sighed in frustration, and removed his hands from within the chest. Just what did this Dragonstone look like? He didn't see any other rooms, where else would this thing be? Farengar did say that it may not be here. Great. Just great. He'd been sent on a fool's errand, searching for something that may not even exist, and he went ahead, thinking that such a thing was really here.

As Archer fumed about his rotten luck, he suddenly heard voices. He looked around, but couldn't find the origin of said voices. He stopped, and listened carefully, tuning his ears to listen to the voices. They weren't just saying things, they were _chanting_ them: the words were repeated in a steady, rhythmic pace, but the words he heard weren't distinguishable. He looked around once more, and his eyes caught sight of the curved wall.

The wall was made from stone, gray and old, but it didn't seem weathered at all, not affected by the forces of nature that morphed the landscape outside, and there was a depiction of a dragon on the wall, he realized, carved out of black stone. It was a little eerie, but he only paid attention to the voices, and the wall itself. From this distance, Archer could clearly see that on the wall, there were carvings of…something. They weren't Common letters, that was for sure. The characters carved into the stone seemed to be _glowing blue_. Maybe they were Daedric letters? But what would a daedric shrine be doing inside an Ancient Nordic temple?

Daedric Lords were powerful god-like beings that had inconceivable abilities. They were worshipped by many people, but some come to regret doing so. Each Daedric Lord had their own realm, and they had sole control of several different things. Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Lord of Destruction, was the one who once tried to invade Tamriel about 200 years ago by means of Oblivion Gates that linked His realm, the realm of Oblivion, with the mortal plane, sparking the Oblivion Crisis that devastated all of Tamriel, mostly Cyrodiil. Daedric Lords would usually have their shrines built far away from civilized places, but they'd want shrines to themselves, not shared with a mortal temple full of the dead, which was why Archer was wondering about the reasoning for the letters.

Whatever the reason, carved characters weren't supposed to be glowing. Normally, any other kind of person would shy away from something like this. But not Archer. Instead, he felt…entranced, drawn to it. The voiced beckoned him closer, yet he didn't understand them. He felt himself start to walk closer, mostly out of curiosity, and then felt the voices get louder. Looking around, but not halting, Archer continued walking towards the wall with the glowing blue carvings. The voices were now much louder, and clearer, to the point that Archer realized that these voices were not speaking in common Cyrodiilic at all, but rather, in a completely foreign language. They were chanting, the voices getting more forceful and powerful with each step closer Archer took. He was close enough to the wall that he could literally _feel_ the power coming out of it. It was almost indescribable, but it was there, an ancient and worthy power emanating from the glowing words etched into the ancient stone. Archer took one more step forward.

Then, the strangest thing in the world happened.

The glowing blue words began to shine brightly, very brightly, and Archer wanted to shut his eyes, but something forced them open. Swirling blue lights began to flow out like water towards him, from the glowing carvings. The energies flew right to him, and they were not going to stop at any time. Archer froze as he felt the icy tendrils of energy go inside of him. They entered his body, and went through his eyes, but he was frozen in place. The energies coming from the lights were overwhelmingly bright now, causing his vision to darken until only the glowing blue words could be seen in his vision. The power coming from the lights themselves seemed to have the very essence of only one thing: raw, unrelenting, unstoppable force. Power at its purest, most pristine form.

_Fus_.

The energies holding Archer in their otherworldly grasp finally let go of the dazed Argonian, who stumbled away from the wall. He was a bit dizzy, and disoriented. He staggered forwards, and steadied himself against the wall. He felt himself stabilize, and when he realized what he was leaning against, he quickly hopped away from the wall.

He inspected the wall, and saw that it was no longer glowing. The words on the wall that had done…something to him, were not glowing blue anymore. They just looked like normal symbols carved into stone. He straightened himself out, and put a hand to his horned head. _What in Oblivion just happened to me?_

"I need to sit down," he said, walking over to the coffin behind him. He went and sat on it, intent on reflecting on what had just occurred to him; he didn't care if he was defiling their grave, it'd only be for a moment. Unfortunately for him, it seemed that something didn't take to kindly to his intrusion.

The coffin simply _exploded_ from underneath him as a creature broke out from the coffin. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to break through a coffin lid with an Argonian man sitting on top of it, and throw both the Argonian and the coffin lid across the room several feet. Archer landed painfully on the stone floor, face-down. He got up, and swirled around, to see another Draugr calmly stepping out of its coffin.

This was no ordinary Draugr, either. It had armor on, more than the others, and it was also taller. It wore a strange metal helmet that covered its entire head, and other metal-based body armor. An iron shield was strapped to its thin, bony left arm. Its two blue eyes glowed furiously at the intruder. It pulled out an Ancient Nordic war axe, and pointed it towards Archer, growling out a challenge to him in its garbled, guttural voice. Archer pulled out his sword, and equipped an electrical Sparks spell on his left hand, and took a combat stance against the ancient creature. Dwelling on that would have to wait for later, it seemed.

The draugr began walking up to Archer, and was met with a face-full of shocking electricity. Archer's sparks spell halted the creature's movement, but only for a moment. It seemed to recover, and simply kept walking towards him as if the lighting was never there. The electricity smoldered against the metal chest plating, but the Draugr didn't stop, not feeling any pain. Archer kept his distance from the approaching Draugr, trying to stay as far as possible from the undead juggernaut.

"_Fus_, Ro **_DAH_**!"

The Draugr leaned forwards, putting his arms back as he roared at Archer. An enormous blue shockwave flew at Archer, unavoidable at this distance. The shockwave slammed into Archer, and threw him back, like a spoiled child would do to an old and undesired toy.

Archer could have sworn that the shockwave had made his ears pop. It may as well have blown them out, he couldn't hear anything. He felt a bit dizzy, but that may have been more from being thrown than from being hit by the shockwave. What kind of ancient and powerful magic was this?!

Archer had no time to think of an answer, as he saw the Draugr approach him. Scrambling to his feet, his hearing coming back, he raised his sword just in time to avoid being cleaved by an overhead axe swing. The sword vibrated under the force of the axe, and Archer almost buckled his knees. The Draugr pulled back and swung again, catching Archer on the arm. Archer hissed in pain as he felt the axe go through his flesh. Looking at the wound, he saw bits of cold frost from on the cut. The axe was enchanted with a frost spell of some sort. It would have been worse, if not for the Frost Resist enchantment on his ring.

The draugr once more swung its axe, and Archer swung his to meet it. Both weapons clanged against each other overhead, a sound that would have made Archer cringe, and both weapons were brought to chest level. The battle then essentially became a shoving match, pitting the Draugr's unrelenting strength and energy against Archer's. Archer knew that he would lose this shoving match; Draugr didn't feel pain. Pain was what limited someone from reaching their absolute maximum potential. Without pain, they could push their bodies to do the maximum effort that was physically possible, not having to worry about overextending their abilities.

Archer began to buckle under the Draugr's greater weight and strength. He needed an escape plan, now. Thinking quickly, Archer twisted his body one way, and the Draugr, now off-balance, fell forwards. It began to stand up, but Archer swung his sword at its neck. The Draugr growled, and got up, swinging its axe at the same time. Archer stepped back, and pulled out his war axe with his left hand. He charged at the Draugr, and swung his sword, but the Draugr's iron shield absorbed the impact easily. Swinging his axe with his left hand, Archer's weapon was blocked again, and the draugr swung its axe at Archer. Archer jumped back, not feeling like he had the skill with a sword to parry the blow. This battle was going on for longer than he'd have liked, and he cursed at himself. He had made only one folly so far in his short time as an official adventurer, but his only mistake would be his ultimate one: he had never built his skill in sword fighting. Archer lunged at the draugr, but this time, the Draugr bashed him with its shield.

Archer grunted in pain, and backed off slightly. The air smelled of blood, his blood, and the sounds of the shield's impact echoed throughout the vast expanse of the large interior of the cavern. How could he have been so foolish to think that he'd never have to fight something head-on? He couldn't always stay hidden, it would only be a matter of time before he'd have to fight someone face-to-face. If he died here, nobody would know, and nobody would probably care. He swung his sword once more, and this time, instead of blocking, the Draugr lashed out with its axe and caught Archer's sword with it somehow. It then twisted its axe and arm one direction, easily disarming the Argonian. The Draugr swung its axe, and Archer hopped back to avoid it, before retaliating with his own axe swing. However, the draugr then swung its shield horizontally, and the rim of its shield hit Archer's axe, right below the blade head.

The old wood easily snapped, and the bladed head on Archer's war axe flew off, leaving him armed with only a stick, and a diminished supply of magic. Archer stared at shock at the stump that used to be his war axe, before jumping back to avoid being bashed again with the shield. Both of Archer's hands then lit up with electricity, before he unleashed every single ounce of magically-conjured lightning at the undead creature, now with both hands. It was not uncommon for people to use both hands to cast spells, because this way, there would be double the damage output in less time. However, this came with the downside of magic becoming depleted much quicker.

Only a few moments after dual-casting the Sparks spell, Archer's magical supply ran out, and his hands ceased glowing with blue electricity. He felt his mind become tired, the side-effect of having depleted one's magical supply, and it would take a while for it to replenish completely. By that time, however, either he'd be dead, or out of Skyrim. At this point, it would probably be the first possibility. The draugr growled gutturally, and Archer braced himself. He had no magic, very light armor, and no escape routes. He may have not had any metal weapons on him, but he still had his most lethal weapon: his body.

The Draugr charged at him, axe raised in anticipation of an overhead swing, intending to lop Archer's head off his body, but Archer stayed right where he stood. He got into a special stance that he had learned, and waited for the Draugr to get closer. The draugr swung its sword at Archer, the dark-colored weapon a blur in its hands.

_Now._

He didn't think it, he had done it mostly out of instinct. He grabbed the draugr's axe arm in mid-air with his right hand, but instead of clamping onto it, as one would to to stop a weapon in mid-swing, he turned his own arm, using the draugr's arm's momentum to redirect the weapon away from him. Archer's other arm lashed out, and he struck the backside of the draugr's elbow with his palm. He didn't put much force into his strike, because he didn't need it. The joint easily snapped, and bent backwards at an abnormal angle. It dropped its weapon, but Archer didn't bend down to grab it. The draugr turned to face Archer head-on, but Archer then hooked one of his legs behind the draugr's leg, and pulled it back, out from under it. With a grunt of effort, Archer pushed the draugr's chest, throwing it off-balance. The draugr fell flat onto its back, vulnerable to attack. It was then that Archer stooped low, grabbed the enchanted war axe, and ran towards the draugr. The draugr bent forwards to get up, its broken arm hanging limp at its side, but Archer didn't give it the chance. He slashed the Draugr at its neck, killing it instantly. The blue glow from its eyes faded, and it fell still.

Archer stared at the Draugr's dead body, wounded, but victorious. He snarled at the corpse in disgust, and sheathed his newly-acquired Frost Enchanted war axe.

"Now, stay dead this time."

He looked around, and picked up his sword, lying a few feet away, next to the Draugr's coffin. Well, this was great. Now, all he had to do was find that Dragonstone, which he had yet to acquire. Standing up, Archer would have turned around to look for the artifact that he had been sent to find, but his eyes caught sight of something inside the draugr's coffin. He craned his head, and got closer. There was what seemed to be a gray rock inside the coffin, but it was flat. Wait a minute, this wasn't a rock, it was a tablet!

His eyes widened in realization, and he picked up the Dragonstone from inside of the draugr's coffin. There were strange markings on it, and the same stylized depiction of a dragon's head that the strange wall shared. There seemed to be what looked like an outline of Tamriel - no, Skyrim, to be precise - with several X's marking spots of interest on the province, the dragon burial sites.

Grinning like a madman, Archer put the large and heavy stone inside his pack, being careful not to break it or have his other items break because of it. He also pulled out a small red vial with a tag that read "Potion of Minor Healing". He unscrewed the cork and downed the entire contents of the small flask in one go. Almost immediately, he felt the potion's effect take place, and the frosted cut on his arm stitched itself up quickly. If he were human, it would have been possible that a scar would have been left, but his scales hid any kind of scar that would have been present.

Spying an exit by means of a large set of steps leading to another smaller tunnel, Archer shouldered his pack, and walked up the steps. He walked through a very narrow tunnel, barely big enough to allow him to move with little difficult, until he came to a dead end. There was a pedestal at the end, looking out-of place at the end of this tunnel. There was a handle on the pedestal, which he grabbed and turned. The dead end section of the rock wall pulled back, and moved aside, revealing another passage. He walked through the opening, and walked through the tunnel. Finally, Archer saw the end of the tunnel, a cavern exit. Archer jumped down from the rocks he was standing on, and ran out the cavern.

Once he got there, he took a deep breath, savoring his first moment outside in what seemed to be hours. How long had it been? Archer looked around, and saw that the sky was already dark. It was early enough so that it wasn't pitch-black out, but it was clearly night-time. He saw a forest in front of him, but the vegetation wasn't thick enough to hinder his vision. He saw a large body of water farther away, which spilled into a river that traveled through the mainland. Archer knew of only one town that had a river running through it. He began walking using the flowing river to guide him towards Riverwood.

…

In a short while Archer had made it to Riverwood. He crossed a small wooden bridge, and looked around. Nobody was out, but he saw that there were candles lit inside the Riverwood trader. It was then that Archer remembered that he had promised to allow that Imperial woman to be his "guide" to where the bandits were hiding. He had failed to tell them about his venture to Whiterun for business, and they were likely to have been expecting him for a while. They would certainly not be happy about blowing them off. Bracing himself, he pushed the door into the Riverwood trader. Inside, the same man who told him about the Claw was putting things away, into a nearby chest, before locking it with a key. Upon hearing the door pushed open, the man turned to meet Archer. The moment his eyes fell upon the Argonian, his face set into a scowl.

"Where were you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, sir," Archer said, "but I-"

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for you? How long _we've_ been waiting for you?" he asked angrily.

"I know that I promised you that I would listen to your directions, but I-"

"I don't care _what_ you were doing, you agreed to help us, and then you just abandoned us like we were nothing!"

"If you would just listen, then-"

"No, _you_ listen to _me_," said the vendor, pointing at himself with his thumb for emphasis.

"I don't care what you were doing, but the least you could've done was tell us," said the man, hands on the table. Archer sighed, and shook his head, before digging into his pack. "…we were waiting for you almost all day! Do you know what it's like to-"

The man was interrupted when the sound of the Golden Claw clanging against the wooden counter top of his table stopped him. He stared in awe at the Claw, and back to Archer, who was now the one with the displeased expression on his face, and had his arms crossed.

"As I was saying, before I was _rudely interrupted_," Archer said, uncrossing his arms, "I had some business in Whiterun that I had to do in order to keep your sorry skins safe, in which I had to go to Bleak Falls Barrow. Lucky for you, I remembered, and kept it with me. Are you happy now?"

The man looked again at the claw, and then back to Archer one last time.

"Uh, yeah…," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Look," he said, trying to sound as apologetic as possible, "I'm sorry about the-"

"Just give me what we agreed on, and I'll get out of your hair," said Archer, extending his hand.

"Oh, r-right!" said the man, looking around for the gold. He dived beneath his counter, before finally fishing out a somewhat large coin bag, and handing it to Archer.

"That's 400 Septims, right there," said the man. The coin bag felt a bit heavy in his hand, a feeling that Archer grinned at. He put the large bag of coins in his pack, and looked back at the man.

"Thank you," said Archer. "Next time, make sure you put a lock on the door if you're gonna be keeping 'priceless ornaments' in your store. It really helps keep unwanted visitors out, if you know what I mean."

The man scratched the back of his head nervously, and Archer heard someone come down from the upstairs.

"Lucan, who is it?" asked the woman who was coming down the stairs. She looked up, and stopped when she saw Archer. She looked over to the counter-top, with the Golden Claw, and she smiled.

"Oh, you found it!" she said. She walked up to Archer, smiling happily. "It means so much to us to have the Claw back where it belongs. Thank you," she said with gratitude. Archer smiled at her.

"Well, it looks like_ someone_ knows how to act nice," Archer said. "Well, I guess I shall be taking my leave, then. Good night." With that, Archer exited from the store, the heavy coin bag in his pocket, a grin on his face. He walked towards the Sleeping Giant Inn. He'd stay the night, and then go to Whiterun one last time, before he got to finally get back on track in his adventuring career.

Suddenly, he got pulled aside by someone in the dark.

"Hey, hey, calm down," said the man. Archer took a look at him.

"Faendal?" Archer said, recognizing the Wood Elf archer that lived in Riverwood. "What is this? What's going on?"

Faendal looked both ways across Riverwood's roads, making sure nobody was around, before whispering to Archer: "I need your help."

"Oh, no," Archer said, "I've done enough things for one day, I want to go to sleep."

"No, no, this is really simple," said Faendal, trying to persuade Archer. Archer sighed, crossing his arms, and nodded once.

"Alright," Faendal said, "you know Camilla Valerius? The woman who runs the shop over at the trader with her brother, Lucan?"

Archer nodded once, slowly.

"Okay, and you know Sven?" he asked, "That obnoxious bard who plays at the Inn?"

Again, Archer nodded, finding the wood elf's description of Sven to be interesting. He obviously didn't like him, by the way he said his name with disgust.

"Okay, here's the deal," said Faendal, "I've got my…thing…with Camilla," he said, "and Sven thinks that he can woo her away from me. So now-"

"If you're trying to get me to kill Sven, forget it," said Archer. Faendal's eyes widened, and he shook his head.

"No no no, nothing like that!" said Faendal. "But on the other had, it would make things easier….no, it won't do. Look, a woman like Camilla doesn't deserve a snobbish man like Sven, right? I have no doubt that she'd rather have me over her, but I need your help to make her see Sven for what he really is."

"So basically," Archer said, "you want me to help you win her over?" Faendal, defeated, sighed, and looked at Archer.

"Look, I only want what's best for Camilla," he said, "so will you help me? It won't take long."

Archer looked at him, long and hard. Why should he help Faendal? He barely even knew the man, just having passed by him a few times during his stays at Riverwood. He barely knew Sven either, having only known him from his visits to the Inn. He knew one thing, though: those passing glances that he'd seen them give each other suggested a bitter rivalry between the two. Well…he'd be in Skyrim for at least only one day. What could go wrong?

Archer sighed, and said, "Alright, so-"

"Great!" said Faendal. "I've got this fake letter from Sven I made that I want you to give to Camilla," he said, whipping out a white piece of paper with writing on it. "Give it to her, and tell her it's from Sven."

"Wait a minute, you want me to-"

"Shh, here he comes!" Faendal said, "don't tell him about this!" With that, Faendal began to casually walk away, towards the Inn. Just as if on cue, Sven walked next to Archer.

"Good day, keeping well?" Sven said.

"Yes, it's been…okay," Archer responded. Sven took a look at Faendal stepping into the Sleeping Giant Inn. He looked back at Archer.

"Were you talking to Faendal?" he asked.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Was he spreading those venomous lies of his about me again?" Sven said. "Well I'll tell you this: that Wood Elf is a liar, and nothing he speaks of is the truth. He just wants Camilla to think of me badly."

"You and Faendal like the same girl?" Archer said, trying to act innocent.

Sven looked at him, and said, "Yes, but if that Faendal thinks that he can woo Camilla Valerius away from me, he's got another thing coming."

"Oh, I probably wouldn't worry about Faendal," Archer said, "he's probably the kind of guy who would ask a stranger for help in a situation like this."

"You know what? You're probably right," said Sven. "Faendal is probably having someone try to help him get my Camilla! Well, I've got another thing coming to him. Would you like to help me, by any chance?" he asked.

"Well, actually-"

"Perfect, I've already got this fake letter I wrote up," he said, pulling out a piece of paper with writing on it as well, "give it to Camilla, and tell her it's from Sven."

"But I-"

"No time to chat, I've gotta go," Sven said, "or Delphine'll have my head if I don't finish paying off those last meads I ordered." With that, the bard rushed over to the Sleeping Giants Inn.

Now, Archer looked to his hands, each one holding a fake letter from each of the two rivals. He was supposed to give them to Camilla, and one of them was supposed to get her in the end of this.

He looked at the letters, and scowled. He had been wrong, these two men weren't the kind strangers that he'd taken them to be, they were really just immature men who had to lie to get what they wanted. A relationship should not be built on lies, for it makes a very unstable foundation. If these men needed to resort to deception to get their girl, then neither of them deserved to get her. He looked up to the Riverwood trader. Looking back at the Inn, he turned, and walked back to the Riverwood trader. He had made his decision. He pushed the door open to the Riverwood trader, and waked in.

Moments later, Faendal peeked his head out from the Sleeping Giant Inn's door, and walked out. Perfect, the Argonian had walked into the Riverwood trader. Soon, Camilla would never want to see that Nord again.

"Hello, Faendal," he heard a voice behind him say. He furrowed his eyebrows, and turned his head.

"Sven." He said the word with as much hatred and contempt that he could muster. Sven stepped out of the Inn, and Faendal turned to confront him.

"What do you want, you string-plucking brigand?" Faendal said. Sven growled at him.

"Really? String-plucking brigand? Is that the best you can do, you pointy-eared pig?" Sven said, his arms crossed.

"Do you want to start something?" Faendal said, "because I'll be more than glad enough to beat you to the ground." He cracked his knuckled, and Sven laughed at him mockingly.

"Really? I am a Nord," Sven said, "I've got more strength in one arm than you do in both those sticks you call arms. I'll be more than happy to make you into a bloody pulp!"

Both men stood at each other, fists raised, ready to pummel each other into submission. Just then, however, they heard the door to the Riverwood trader open. Both looked to see Archer standing there. Both men looked at each other, and walked over to Archer.

"Hello, friend," said Faendal, "how is everything going?"

"Yes, how are you today?" Sven asked. Archer looked at them.

"Everything's well, I guess," he said. "By the way, Camilla wants to see the two of you."

Both their eyes widened, and they rushed towards the door, pushing and shoving each other as they scrambled to get to the door. Both of them got to the door at the same time, and the door opened to reveal Camilla sitting down on her chair.

"Ah, Camilla, my dear," said Sven, "you look as beautiful as ever."

"Yes, indeed, you look stunning in this light. Is that a new-"

"You two," she said, angrily looking at them. She stood up. "I can't believe you two."

The two men looked at each other.

"I cannot believe that you two would try to do something like this!" she said, throwing her hands up into the air. "I know you two both share feelings for me, but if you need to stoop as low as to writing fake letters, telling me they're from the other…"

Both men looked at her, shocked.

She sighed, and put her hands to her temples. "Look..I'm sorry…I had expected better of you. I guess I was wrong…until you two decide to grow up, I don't want to see either of you in here again!"

"But, Camilla-"

"My dear-"

"Get out. Now." Her voice was threatening, which was surprising for a woman of her stature, but she did the job surprisingly well.

Defeated, both men turned around and left the building, their shoulders sagged. They got out, and looked up to see Archer. They growled at him, and stood up normally.

"You," Sven said.

"What did you tell Camilla?" Faendal asked.

"The truth," Archer said, handing the two the fake letters they made to the other. Instead of continuing their argument, they read the other's fake letter. Their eyes both widened, and they looked at each other with fury.

"What is this?!" Faendal said. "You tried to write a fake letter about me?"

"So did you!" Sven exclaimed.

"You did it first!"

"I can't believe you'd think that this letter would prove anything."

"It damn well would have, and you know it!"

"This sounds nothing like me!"

"Oh, I'm sure that it's convincing."

"Why, I ought to-"

Archer simply chuckled at the two men arguing behind him as he walked to the Sleeping Giant Inn. They had deserved it, after all. Now, he could get a good night's sleep, and be off to Whiterun to deliver his package. That is, if the sounds of their argument didn't keep everyone awake.

…

It was morning in Skyrim, and everything seemed to be calm and beautiful. The sky was bright and clear, as blue as the sky could be. The sun was out as well, shining upon the land in its full glory, with no clouds in the way to block it's way. It was a nice feeling, having the sunlight on you, even for a hardy Nord who had been living in Skyrim all his life. The light shone on Whiterun's plains, where deer could be seen racing and grazing, as well as the occasional Giant lumbering along in the distance. Tall trees reached up towards the sky in the distance, where Whiterun's surrounding forested regions lay. Watch duty wasn't the funnest job in the guard career, but at least one had a good view of the surrounding landscape from the top of the Western Watchtower. This was what Ignar, a guard who had been posted at the Western Watchtower, thought as he admired the beauty of the untamed wilderness around him.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw another of the guards, Hroki.

"Alright, get down there. My turn to watch up here," Hroki said. Ignar wordlessly complied, a bit let down that he couldn't have the view from up in the tower. He walked down the stone steps leading to the top of the old stone tower. He finally got to the bottom, and began to stand where Hroki's post used to be. There were three other guards posted at the Western Watchtower, including himself: Hroki, Tor, and Brandr. He knew them all, good, strong Nord men, who he had fought alongside numerous times in his life. They were talented warriors, which was partly the reason why he always felt at ease with them around.

"Hey," said Tor, leaning against the stone tower. "How're you holding up?" he asked.

"Fine, I guess," said Ignar.

"You're not worried about the dragon?" Tor asked.

"What?!," said Ignar, "I mean, n-no...no I'm not."

"I wouldn't worry about it," said Brandr, standing a few yards away, on a rocky hill nearby. "They're just stupid animals, those flying lizards. We'll give 'em a taste of cold steel if they get close."

"Try saying that while you're ablaze," said Tor, "then I'd be impressed."

"You're scared of the dragon, aren't you?" asked Brandr, an amused expression in his voice.

"Yeah, I am," said Tor, "and I'm not afraid to admit it; these are dragons we are talking about. It'll level this entire tower with ease, and we'll be less than ants to it. If a dragon comes by here, then we can kiss our arses good-bye."

"Look, I'm tired of you guys all talking about dragons," said Ignar. "I don't care if dragons are flying around Skyrim or not, I'm not going to talk about something that doesn't exist." Tor and Brandr looked at him, incredulous.

"You heard what the Jarl said," Brandr said, "Helgen got hit by a-"

"I don't want to hear it," said Ignar. "If I even so much as hear the word, I'll beat the mead right out of you. You hear me, I do not want to hear a single one of you say the word-"

"_Dragon_!"

They heard it before they saw it: a loud, ferocious roar, and then, a massive scaled body with giant bat-like wings flying over the tower. A dragon. The very creature whose existence had been limited to tales for children and epic legends of Nordic history. Until now.

The dragon roared, and began to circle overhead. It didn't attack just yet, but Tor and Brandr unsheathed their weapons, the cold Imperial steel glinting in the sunlight.

"Everyone get ready, we might have to fight our way out of this!" shouted Tor.

"Alright, everyone! We need to make sure it doesn't get us with its fire or its claws!" said Brandr, stepping closer to his comrades, not shifting his focus from the dragon circling overhead.

"Now, I've got an idea," said Brandr, turning to them, "I need each of you to-" he stopped.

"…where's Ignar?"

They both looked to the side, and saw Ignar running away, screaming in fear. The dragon roared, and finally swooped down onto the watchtower. Tor and Brandr heard the roar, and looked up, just in time to see a large fireball flying at them.

…

The doors to Dragonsreach fortress opened suddenly, bringing sound to the stillness of its interior. Through the two grand doors, an Argonian man clad in Imperial armor stepped forth. Two guards closed the doors again as he walked down the aisle, and turned right, towards the Court-Wizard's room.

"Ah, you have returned. How did your task go?" asked Farengar as Archer walked into the room. The Argonian stuck his hand into his pack, rummaging through its contents, before coming out with a gray stone tablet with strange carvings.

"I almost died in that damn place," said Archer, "but…here you go." He handed it over to Farengar, who graciously accepted it.

"Ah, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Thank you, this will very much assist me in my research," he said, putting the stone tablet down on the brown wooden table in front of him. You are definitely a notch up from the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

"Yeah, well. There you go. You're welcome," said Archer. "Do I…get a reward for nearly getting gutted by one of those draugr things in there?" he asked. Farengar crossed his arms. He heard the doors in the main entrance open, and heard someone running across the floor rather quickly, but Archer paid no attention to it.

"You'll have to see the Jarl about that. Maybe his steward, Aventus Avenicci. I'm sure one of them will pay you for your services," he said. "My…associate will be happy to see your handiwork," he added, motioning to a figure garbed in brown leather armor and was wearing a hood, who was bent over Farengar's table, examining a document. Pale white skin was visible on their wrists, only exposed a slight bit. "She has discovered the location, by means that she declines to share with me." He turned to her.

"So your calculations were correct, after all. You can thank our…'friend' here for this," he said, motioning towards Archer.

"You went to Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Impressive. Those draugr can be pretty nasty," she said, standing upright. These people were strange, Archer thought. What was with the need for all the secrecy? Dragons weren't a secret anymore, in fact they should be telling more people about their return, to make sure that they're better prepared for their attack, should they decide to assault a nearby town.

"Right," said Archer. "Well then…I shall be going, then. I bid you a fare-"

"Farengar!" said the Jarl's dunmer bodyguard, bursting into the room. "You need to come, quickly! A dragon's been sighted close by." She turned to Archer. "You should come, too." Archer looked at her as if she were mad.

"Me?!" he said.

"Yes, you, now let's go!" she said, turning to walk up the steps to Dragonsreach's second story floor. Farengar trailed behind her, excited about the dragon. Archer, sighing, walked up the steps, seeing no choice in the matter. Why did these people seem to have the need to pull him into their situations?

He walked up, and looked to see Irileth and Farengar standing besides a Whiterun guard, who was heavily huffing and puffing from what seemed to be lack of air. Jarl Balgruuf was standing in front of him, arms crossed, concern etched into his facial features. He seemed to be trying to calm him.

"Easy now…you say that there was a dragon at your post. Was it doing? Was it attacking anybody?" the Jarl asked. The guard, still huffing, shook his head.

"No…" said the guard, "It was just circling overhead when I last saw it. I never ran so fast in my life…"

Hmph, coward, Archer thought. It had been a cowardly move, in his opinion, but it had been a necessary move. Archer knew that sometimes, it paid to run away, to live to fight another day.

"That's enough," said the Jarl. "Go to the barracks, you've earned yourself some rest." The guard nodded, and breathed out a thanks, before walking out, down the steps. The Jarl turned to Irileth.

"Irileth," he said, now dead-serious, "I need you to gather a force to take care of the dragon."

"I've already ordered my men to muster out at the main gates of Whiterun," she said.

"Then there's no time to waste," said the Jarl. He then turned to Archer again. "I'm afraid that there's no time to ask for any more forces. I'm going to need your help again, friend," the Jarl told Archer. "I need you to go with Irileth and help take care of the dragon."

"But-"

"You have more experience than anyone else here about dragons, you'll be of use to them. Please, I need you to do this one last thing for me," said the Jarl. Archer closed his mouth, and sighed.

"Alright. I'll do it," Archer said. At least this time, he wouldn't be alone. Except, he'd be fighting a dragon now. Who knew how many people it would take to kill one of those beasts? The Jarl nodded.

"Good. Go with Irileth to the Western Watchtower. Whiterun is in your hands now," said the Jarl.

Archer nodded, and walked down the steps to the first floor. Irileth was at the entrance of Dragonsreach, apparently waiting for him. When she saw him, she turned and opened the door to the outside. Archer reluctantly followed her through Whiterun, until they reached the main entrance to Whiterun. Waiting for them there was a small group of guards, only about four men, armed with only Imperial shortswords, wooden shields, and Imperial-grade bows. They may as well have been fighting with sticks and stones, Archer thought.

"Alright, men. A dragon is attacking Whiterun tower! I don't know who sent it or where it came from, but it's made a big mistake or attacking Whiterun!" Irileth said.

"A dragon?"

"We're dead."

"But housecarl, how do we fight a dragon?" asked a guard.

"Good question," she said. "None of us have ever seen a dragon, much less have fought one. But we are bound by our honor to fight it, even if we fall in doing so! This dragon is threatening our homes and families! Would you call yourselves Nords if you ran away from this battle? Are you ready to join me in the attack?" she asked.

The men shifted nervously, looking at each other. They were scared, regardless of what they'd say if you asked them; it was visible in their eyes.

"Listen," Irileth growled, "more than our honor is at stake here." SHe began to pace along the soldiers. "Think about it: the first dragon seen in ages…and the glory of killing it is ours!" She turned to them. "Now, who's with me?! Who's ready to go kill a dragon?!" Her voice was full of emotion and passion, like a true leader. This woman was very passionate about her work, and even more about the protection of her home. The men no longer looked scared. They knew what was at stake, and they knew what would happen if they didn't help. They were prepared to die for their homes, for their families, and, seeing what they were going to be up against, it might just happen.

"Yeah!"

"Aye!"

"Damn right!"

Irileth's words of inspiration did an excellent job of rallying the troops, Archer thought. He was never an inspirational speaker, in his opinion. He was glad that she was here to do that for him. He wasn't going to run, either, he knew. He may have not been a Nord, but his parents, especially his mother, taught him about the concept that these Nords hold so deeply important to them. He'd help these men, but regardless, he was still scared of the dragon. After that moment in Helgen, he hoped to have never seen another dragon again. He guessed that fate, so far, had proven to have a cruel sense of irony. Having almost escaped with his life from a dragon, then being killed in battle by a dragon...

"Good," said Irileth. "Now, let's go kill us a dragon."

With those last words, she turned to the doors of Whiterun, and she walked through them, the group of men behind her, including Archer. They walked through the outer gates, and walked along a road that cut through the plains of Whiterun. They hadn't heard a dragon roar yet, but it was too early to assume that it had just left.

Archer smelled it before he saw it: smoke. He smelled smoke in the air, bringing back painful memories of Helgen. He shook them away, but didn't ignore the smell. Where there was smoke, there was fire, which meant that something big was burning. Probably the tower.

"Over there!" said Irileth. It wouldn't have mattered if she did or didn't say it, there was no way Archer could have missed the burning ruins of what was left of the Western Watchtower. There were pieces of stone lying around, probably from larger parts of the tower, and wherever there was wood, it was burning lightly, the fire having almost completely burned through the wood. Smoke rose into the air, creating an opaque screen of grey clouds in the air.

"Well, a dragon's definitely been here, alright," said Irileth. "Spread out," she said, unsheathing her sword, "and look for survivors. Be careful, we don't know if that dragon's still around."

Everyone's swords came out, and they all fanned out, walking slowly towards the wreckage of the tower. Archer took in his surroundings carefully. No dragon yet, but he saw more wreckage. A few feet away, he spotted the dead body of a guard, the red stains of blood visible on his armor even from here.

"No! Get back!" said a voice. Everyone looked up to see a guard standing on a piece of rubble, next to the tower. His helmet was gone, so Archer could see that his face was covered in sweat, blood, and soot. His eyes were wide with fright, but he was alive, at least.

"Brandr? What's happened? Where are the others?" Irileth asked.

"Dead, housecarl," he said. "Hroki and Tor got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it."

"You need to help us," said Irileth. "Where did the dragon go when you last saw it?" she asked. The guard was going to answer, but he looked towards the distance, where the mountain tops could be seen from there, and he gasped.

"Kynareth save us, here he comes again!" he said. Archer heard a spine-chilling roar, and turned his head to see the dragon, flying over the mountains, and heading for the tower, closing the distance between them extremely quickly.

"Everyone, take out your bows!" Irileth yelled. "Make every arrow count!"

Archer did exactly that, but at the sight of the terrible dragon, he knew that it would be all for naught. That thing was moving too fast, how would they manage to even hit it? The dragon roared, and flew right over them, the disturbance in the air caused by its flying low to the ground enough to make Archer and a few men stumble back a step. Archer heard one of the men pull out a war horn and blow it, alerting anyone that a battle was taking place. The dragon circled back around, and opened its maw. Out of the giant beast's jaws, a jet of fire flew out, and struck the ground. It made a passing run, and it flew close to the ground while still shooting flames.

Archer dove out of the way of the moving pillar of fire coming from the dragon's mouth, and landed on his stomach painfully against the dirt floor. The dragon kept flying, and pulled up, flying high into the air. It turned and flew at them again, but instead of making another passing run, it hovered in midair, flapping its great wings to keep it suspended. It arched its neck back, growled, and opened its mouth, a large fire ball flying out. The fireball hit the feet near a guard, and the man was sent flying away several feet. Archer didn't look to see if he was still alive, the dragon was now in range of his bow.

He loaded an arrow, and fired. The arrow flew, and it hit the beast. However, as he had expected, it was still too high to hit a good vital area, and his arrow had little effect on it besides making it growl. Several more arrows flew at the dragon, some missing, and some of the ones that hit bouncing off the dragon's thick plate scales. The dragon, seeing as it was getting hit, began to fly through the air again. It was amazing how such a large creature could move about the air so gracefully, as if it had been born in the sky. Archer would have definitely admired it, if it were not trying to kill everything that moved.

The dragon circled around, and this time, it stopped flapping its wings, and landed, using its wings to instead slow its fall. It landed with a thud, and everyone began to charge at it. Archer chose to keep firing his bow at the thing, aiming for its head and neck. The dragon turned its attention to the humans attacking it, and it roared. Irileth fired some lightning bolts from her hand, which hit the dragon, but didn't seem to do much damage. The dragon snapped at the men with its jaws, but they managed to jump out of the way before it clamped on them. However, one of them were not so lucky, and the dragon bit down on the man, a sickening crouching sound audible as the man was crushed by terrible jaws. The dragon raised its head, and shook it a few times, before releasing the man's dead body, causing it to fly one way several feet.

The men took the opportunity to take hits at it with their swords, but the dragon snapped at them again, forcing them to jump back. Archer continued to make a pincushion out of the dragon, but a lone archer with a limited supply of arrows could only do so much against a dragon, especially if several arrows that struck bounced off the dragon's thick hide. However, the dragon was taking hits, as the men's swords found their way between the plates, into the soft flesh on the dragon's body.

It roared, and took to the skies again, the force of its great beating wings causing some men to stumble back. It roared, and began to fly again. It kept making runs at them with its flames, but it didn't land anymore. It had apparently learned that to land meant to get into range of their weapons, and was using its advantage of flight against them. Another man fell dead from the dragon's fire. It roared in triumph, and circled back yet again. Archer struggled to get a good shot on the dragon. How on earth would he be able to hit it at this rate?

He needed to get higher up, so that he could reach the dragon. He looked at the tower, which still stood, rising up high into the air. The idea was nearly suicide, but what other choice did he have? Archer slung his bow over his back, and ran towards the tower. He got to the base, and climbed up the steps reaching to the very top of the stone structure. The dragon hadn't noticed him yet, but he knew how to change that.

"Hey! Over here!" he yelled, firing a ball of fire at the dragon. It hadn't hit, but the dragon looked at Archer, and roared. It then changed its course, and began to fly at the lone Argonian standing on the top of the tower. Archer's eyes widened, and he dove out of the way, nearly getting chomped on by the dragon. He stood up, and launched some lightning bolts at the dragon. They hit the dragon, who roared in pain. The dragon circled round, and dove again at him. Archer put both hands out and fired off as much lightning as he could muster at the incoming dragon. The dragon took the blows, coming closer to Archer, but at the last moment, pulled out of the dive to avoid getting hit more.

It was angry now, Archer thought. He didn't feel like he had much magicka left, so he pulled out his sword in his right hand, keeping his Lightning Bolt spell on his left. The dragon flew at him. Archer charged the lightning bolt, but didn't fire just yet. He was going to aim at the dragon's vital spots, to make as much use of the bit of magic he had left. The dragon got closer, and closer, and opened its mouth, intending to tear Archer in half, but Archer didn't move, not one inch. He aimed as best as he could at the dragon's eye.

He fired the Lightning Bolt.

He didn't see if he hit its eye exactly, but by his guess, it was painful. The dragon shrieked in pain, and turned its head. It kept flying forwards, however, right at the tower top. Archer's eyes widened, and the dragon crashed into the tower.

The majority of the top section of the tower was destroyed, large chunks of grey stone showering upon the rest of the men. Archer, screaming, fell down with the dragon. The dragon hit the floor first, however, and crashed with a painful thud. Archer fell down in the same path as the dragon, and, out of sheer luck, hit the dragon's back, and bounced off. He landed on the floor to the dragon's side, but not nearly as painfully as the dragon did. He checking himself for any fatal injuries, still on the floor. By his guess, he was still okay. Beaten-up and injured, but still alive.

Archer saw a shadow descending on him, and he froze. He slowly turned his head, and saw the dragon lifting its great head up above Archer, looking down at him. He stared in shock. How could it have survived a fall like that? It didn't matter, because he was going to die now.

As he looked at the dragon, he remembered the horrifying events at Helgen; the townspeople running for safety; the houses catching fire and burning; the guards fighting in vain, dying painfully. Then, Archer, looking at the dragon, didn't feel scared of it anymore. No, he felt something much more powerful than fear: hatred. Snarling, he got up, and pulled out his sword. This dragon wasn't the same one as the one from Helgen, as it didn't have the black spikes all over its body or the red eyes, but he swore, he'd get revenge, revenge for all the unnecessary killing, the unnecessary deaths. He didn't care if it was the same one or not, it was still a dragon. It had destroyed a small town full of innocent people, for what? The sake of enjoyment? If he was going to die, then he was going to die with the dragon. Even if it was the last thing he did.

The dragon opened its mouth, and its head flew at Archer. Time seemed to slow at that moment. Whether it was from Divine Intervention or his increased adrenaline, the dragon's head seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. Archer's sword arm went over to his left side, and the dragon's head got closer. Then, at just the right moment, Archer swung his sword in an overhead arc, with as much as strength as he could put behind. His sword hit the dragon's head at just the right moment, and the dragon's entire head was forced to one side.

Blood spattered on Archer, but he didn't care to wipe it off. The dragon's head moved back into place, in front of him. Remembering the spider fight in Bleak Falls Barrow, Archer jumped at the dragon's head, grabbing onto one of the large, curved horns on its head.

However, the moment that Archer grabbed its horn, the dragon went into a frenzy, roaring and throwing its head back and forth in an attempt to shake him off. Archer, momentarily startled, grabbed onto its other horn instead of stabbing down with his sword. The dragon threw him up, but he grabbed onto the horns again, so now he was riding the dragon's head like it was a bucking stallion. It growled, and snapped at him, trying to bite him from where he was, to no avail. Archer screamed, hanging on for dear life as he stood atop the dragon's head. The other guards took the opportunity to charge at the dragon, firing arrows and swinging swords at the grounded beast. Irileth shot a lightning bolt at it, and almost hit Archer, who yelped in surprise.

Archer readjusted his grip on his sword, readjusted his positioning, and raised his sword into the air. There, he began to hack away at the dragon's face, causing a growl of pain to come from it every time he landed a blow. Archer kept on hitting and hitting, but he could not seem to hit its eye. The dragon shook its head once violently, almost throwing Archer off of it. It snapped at his tail, and Archer pulled it back, just in time. Another shake, and Archer was partly airborne for another moment, still hanging onto the dragon's horn. If the dragon did another shake like that, he'd be thrown off for sure.

Archer raised his sword one last time, and with a cry of effort, he plunged his sword deep into the dragon's eye, right up to the hilt. The dragon shrieked in pain, and threw its head back, roaring to the heavens. Archer was thrown back, and screamed, before landing painfully on the floor. The dragon finally, finished its roar, and simply collapsed onto its forearms, and onto the floor, dead. The men looked at the dead dragon, and punched their fists into the air, cheering. One of them banged their sword against their shield in triumph.

"Look!" shouted a guard, pointing to the dragon's corpse. It had caught fire, or so it seemed. Its scales were turning into a white-hot color, but there was no fire to do so. Suddenly, the white hot scales burned up, and turned to ash. More and more scales burned away, and all the guards got away from the corpse as quickly as possible, covering their heads in fear. A wind picked up and the bits of ash were carried away with it. The scales kept burning, revealing old, yellow bones, the skeleton of the dragon. The bones looked old, yellowed and ancient, as if they had been existing for thousands of years. There was no blood, no organs, nothing…just the skeleton and the scales.

Finally, Archer stumbled into view from behind a piece of rubble, obviously dazed. He was holding his head, and he opened his eyes. He looked around, and saw everyone hiding behind something. Before he could ask, however, the dragon's skeleton erupted into a giant stream of lights. Lights came out of the dragon's dead body, and flew through the air, like an aurora of golden whisps…at Archer.

Archer froze when he felt the lights hit him. They flowed towards him, and flowed into him, inside him. He felt something inside him burn, powerful, and ancient. He felt like he couldn't breathe, but the lights kept going inside of him. Something in him stirred, ancient, and unbound at last. He was filled with an unbearable warmth, even for a cold-blooded man like him, until finally, the aurora of gold stopped flowing. The ancient dragon's bones stood still, and Archer finally breathed again, on wobbly legs that threatened to buckle from underneath him. He held his head again, shocked.

"By the gods…"

"I don't even know what to say…"

Archer looked to see the guards coming out from behind the cover they were cowering behind. Archer looked at them all, wild with fright.

"W-what just happened? What's going on?" Archer asked.

"I can't believe it…" said a guard, walking up closer to Archer, who looked at him with wide eyes.

"Can't believe what? What?!" Archer demanded.

"You…you're…Dragonborn," said the guard.

**A/N: Yes, it's a cliffhanger ending, and for a reason. I am not going to be keeping the word count of each chapter around the same, because then they don't end as I'd like them to. A chapter ends when it ends, not when it reaches a certain word count. On another note, you saw how I deviated from the love triangle quest in Riverwood. I did that to show you guys that I'm not going to be going with the storyline exactly as seen. There will be some deviation, for the sake of the story, but it will stay along the storyline of Skyrim. Lastly, you get to see Lydia's point of view because she's also a main character, along with the Dragonborn.**

**I also want to ask you guys something: Would you like to see a pic of Archer? I could post an in-game pic of him, and link it in my profile. Tell me your thoughts!**

**P.S. This is my longest chapter yet, with 12,071 words (not including the author's notes)!**

**Please review the story if there's something you'd like to say! All review are read and appreciated!**


	5. Oil Meets Water

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! Don't be expecting them as fast as before, things have changed since school began. Don't worry, we'll get through this... eventually.**

"Excuse me?" Archer said.

"Yes, you heard me right," said the Nord guard. "You're Dragonborn. In the very oldest tales, back when dragons still lived in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons, and steal their power by absorbing the dragon's soul, so they could use their powers. That's what you did, right? Absorb its power?"

"I-I have no idea," said Archer, "I..I don't know, something happened to me, those lights…they went inside me…" He was so shocked, it became hard for him to speak, since when his mind was still buzzing.

"Dragonborn?" asked a guard. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, the Dragonborn. My pa used to tell stories of the Dragonborn, of those born with the dragon blood, like old Tiber Septim himself. He must be one: a man with the soul of a dragon."

"I don't remember Tiber Septim killing any dragons," said the second guard, crossing his arms. The first guard scowled.

"That's because there weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're just coming back now in…forever," he said.

All the while, during their discussion, Archer's head was spinning, from the strange lights that entered his body, from having fallen to the floor painfully, and from having just discovered something completely different about himself. He had just absorbed a dragon's _soul_? What was this Dragonborn nonsense? What power were they referring to? Why him? Why now? How could he be of this…Dragon blood, like Tiber Septim himself?

Tiber Septim was a general who eventually conquered all the provinces of Tamriel, and uniting them under the Imperial flag, marking the start of the 3rd Era in Tamriel, which had ended about 200 years ago, when the Oblivion Crisis ended. Because of his feats in life, when he died, he was sent to the Heavens, where he became the god that Nords know as Talos, taking his own place in the pantheon of the Nine Divines, the religious entities that people in Tamriel believed in. How could he, an Argonian, ever be related to a human turned god, by any means, much less to Dragons?

"…What do you say, Irileth?" asked a guard. "You're being awfully quiet." All heads turned to the irritable Dunmer housecarl, who simply crossed her arms and stared at them.

"_I _think you should all stop talking about this nonsense about _Dragonborns," _she said. She turned to the Dragon's skeleton, laying motionless, and said, "Here's a dead dragon. That's something I understand, definitely. We know that we can kill them now, and that's all that matters. I don't need some mythical _dragonborn _to kill these things. Someone with a good sword arm's good enough for me. "

A guard shook his head, and said, "You wouldn't understand, housecarl; you ain't a Nord."

She narrowed her eyes at them, and said, "I've seen plenty of strange things just like this, and besides, I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over a few tales and legends. A legend's not going to save us."

"Hold on a moment," said Archer, halting any possible retort to Irileth's remark. "You mentioned something about me using…some sort of power?" he asked.

"Well, only a Dragonborn could Shout without training, just like the dragons could," said the guard who had mentioned Archer's power.

"Shout? You mean like, yelling?"

"No, I mean…you can do the things dragons can do, like breathe fire," the guard explained.

"Okay…how would I do that?" Archer asked. The guard shrugged.

Archer wondered how to possibly use a dragon's power. Then, he remembered that word wall back at Bleak Falls Barrow. The wall had _shoved_ a word into his mind, one that he didn't recognize. _Fus_. The word was always in his mind, but it had remained out of his thoughts until the dragon soul had been absorbed, and he remembered it as if he'd been saying it all his life.

Curious, Archer said the word: "Fus."

Nothing happened.

"I said you could _Shout_, not _whisper_!" said the guard. "Shout it this time!"

"He can't do it," whispered a guard, "he's just an Argonian."

He didn't care if he could use this power or not, but Archer tried again, just to prove this man wrong. This time, though, he shouted the word: "_FUS!"_

A circular blue shockwave flew out of his mouth, and flew in the direction that he had been facing, the guards. The shockwave slammed into the guards, and they all staggered back a step, giving out cries of surprise as they got affected by the power. Worried that he might have just accidentally given himself a bounty, Archer ran over to one of the guards who had stumbled. The guard looked at him with wide eyes, wide with admiration.

"That was it! That was Shouting, what you just did. You must definitely be Dragonborn," said the guard.

Archer was surprised at his own power, how he had managed to stagger several grown men by only uttering a single word. This was definitely nothing like he'd ever seen or heard of before, and more powerful than anything he'd seen before too. Irileth walked up to him.

"That was the toughest fight I've been in," she said, "and for me, that's saying something. Go to Whiterun. The Jarl needs to know what happened here. I'm going to go over our casualties."

Archer wordlessly complied, still stunned by the power of his new abilities. Everything that he had known about himself - or better said, what he had _thought_ he had known about himself, about him just being a normal Argonian - had been…false? The power that came with being Dragonborn was obviously not natural to an Argonian. If he was Dragonborn, and he had the soul of a dragon, and he could do these things…that meant that he wasn't an Argonian. If he wasn't an Argonian, then what _was he?!_

In a few minutes, he had managed to reach Whiterun, and was now outside, where the stables where. Suddenly, the air exploded as a deafening thundering sound broke out and echoed across the land. Archer was knocked out of his rhythm, and almost fell over from the sound.

_Do-vah-kiin._

Amidst the thundering, a group of voices could be heard calling out a name, a word of some sort. Just as suddenly as it had come, the thundering and the voices became silent, and left. Archer looked around, completely alert. He scanned the sky, looking for any storm clouds. The sky was completely bereft of any sort of clouds that could bring about precipitation. Where had that thundering sound come from? Was it in his own mind? A look over to the spooked horses at the stables, now shifting around uncomfortably in their stalls, with their keeper trying to calm them, told him otherwise.

He shook his head, and walked over to Whiterun's gates, where the guards there had let him in without complaint, this time. He reached Dragonsreach in a short while, and the guards at the door looked at him. It didn't matter that they had helmets, Archer knew they were staring at him with shock, seeing him covered in blood and soot. He went through the doors into Dragonsreach.

"You've returned," the Jarl stated simply when Archer walked up to him. "What happened over there? Where are the others? Did you take care of the dragon?"

Archer looked at him, and said, "Yes…we killed the dragon. We lost a couple of men…I'm not sure. But it's dead, that's for sure."

The Jarl's face lighted up, and he smiled, before saying, "This is wonderful news! A dragon killed…the first in ages! Thank you… I believe that I haven't even caught your name yet."

"Archer…my name's Archer," Archer said, his mind dwelling on his Dragonborn nature.

The Jarl looked at him strangely. "Oh, right then…thank you, Archer, for helping my guards kill this dragon."

Just then, Irileth walked into the room, along with three men.

"My Jarl," she said. "We've lost two men during our fight with the dragon."

"Alright," said the Jarl, "get the guard Captain to deliver the grievance messages."

Irileth began to walk away, and the other guards followed. However, one stayed behind, and turned around.

"Did you tell the Jarl about what to you happened after you killed the dragon?" he asked.

The Jarl raised an eyebrow, and said, "No…no he hasn't." He turned to Archer, waiting for an answer. Archer looked back to the Jarl, and then took a deep breath. He didn't want to tell people about his new power, but he guessed that It'd probably be best to tell the Jarl about this matter anyways. Maybe the Jarl knew about his Dragonborn nature.

"When I killed the dragon…I absorbed some sort of power from it," Archer said. "And the men kept calling me "Dragonborn" ".

The Jarl's eyebrows rose up, obviously in surprise. Then, they lowered, and his facial expression changed so that he looked questioning. Out of curiosity, Archer presumed, the two guards and Irileth stayed in the room, to see what would go down.

"Dragonborn?" he asked. "What do _you_ know about the Dragonborn?"

Archer shrugged, and said, "I don't know…it's what the men called me after a bunch of lights flew out of the dragon's corpse towards me."

The Jarl sat back into his throne, staring at Archer in amazement.

"So it's true, then," he said, "the Greybeards really were calling to summon you."

If Archer knew how to raise one eyebrow, he would have done so.

"Greybeards?" he asked.

"Masters of the Way of the Voice," the Jarl explained. "They live on High Hrothgar, on the tallest mountain in Skyrim, the Throat of the World. They live there in seclusion, to hone their abilities with the Voice."

"What would they want with me?" asked Archer. The Jarl readjusted his seating, so that he was sitting upright, and facing Archer normally.

"The Dragonborn is said to be gifted in the power of the Voice. The ability to focus your vital essence into a Shout, or a Thu'um, as the Greybeards would say. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

_Gift._ _Maybe to _them _it would be a gift,_ Archer thought, _but not to _me_._

"Didn't you hear that thundering sound when you returned to Whiterun?" asked a voice to Archer's side. Another Nord man walked into view, wearing scaled armor. "That was the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar, their temple on the mountain. This hasn't happened in…centuries, at least."

"There's no way he can be this "Dragonborn", capable as he may be," said the Jarl's steward.

"Really now?" asked the armored Nord. "You seem to talk about the legend as if you knew _anything_ about Nordic tales and legends, and last I checked, you said they were just _nonsense_."

"Oh come now, even you should be able to see the flawed logic in an Argonian being the hero of Nordic prophecy."

"The prophecies never said what race the Dragonborn would be. They didn't describe the Dragonborn at all. They just said that the Dragonborn would come, and if our friend's description of what happened to him is truth, then he's definitely here, right in front of us."

With each point the Nord made, Archer felt his spirits dim. He didn't want to admit it, but it was undeniable that something had happened to him at the Western Watchtower when he killed that dragon, something very important. Possibly even life-changing. He didn't want this.

"I meant no disrespect," said Avenicci, putting his hands up defensively, "It's just that… what would these Greybeards want with him?"

"That's the Greybeards business," said the Jarl, "not ours." He then turned towards Archer.

"You'd better get to High Hrothgar immediately," he said, "there's no refusing the call of the Greybeards." _Yeah? Just watch me_, Archer thought.

"It's a tremendous honor to be called on by the Greybeards," said the Jarl. Then, the Jarl smiled, and said, "You've done our city a tremendous service by doing these things for us, Dragonborn." Archer slightly cringed when he heard himself be referred to as _Dragonborn. _He didn't want the title, nor did he think he deserved it. What had he done, besides nearly get himself killed in an insane stunt trying to kill a dragon?

"After what you've been put through, and what you've done for me and my people, I think that you deserve something better than a material reward," said the Jarl. "By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun, the greatest honor that's within my power to bestow on you."

"Thane?" asked Archer. He had been given a title by the Jarl? What was it supposed to mean?

"And," the Jarl said as an afterthought, "I hereby assign you as your housecarl… Lydia."

…

Lydia sat in her room as she sharpened her sword with a whetstone. She placed her sword on the stone at an angle, applied a measured amount of pressure on the blade against the stone, and scraped it forwards, and then back, then forwards, then back… She may have been done with her training for the afternoon, but that didn't mean that she was just going to sit back and relax until her next duty came about. She had to maker sure that her sword was in good condition, especially after those sparring sessions with the combat dummies. Cloth and filling could dull a sword too. Inspection could be passed at any time, and she was not going to be unprepared if the moment came.

Just then, she heard someone knocking on the door to her room, and she paused in her sword sharpening for only a moment.

"Who is it?" she asked, not diverting her attention away from the sharp sword whose blade was near her fingers.

"Lydia, open up," said the voice. Lydia's head shot up as she recognized the voice of the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth. Immediately, she put her sword and whetstone down, and walked over to the door quickly. That irritable dunmer didn't like to be kept waiting, as she had proven to be somewhat impatient over her time here. Paired with her superior rank to Lydia, she knew better than to keep Irileth waiting. She opened the door, and Irileth was standing there, arms crossed. Lydia immediately saluted the higher-ranking housecarl.

"Yes, housecarl?" she asked, referring to her in her formal title, as was custom in Skyrim.

"Follow me," said Irileth. She then turned around, and began to walk down the hall. Lydia hesitated for only a moment, then turned to quickly get her things.

"Leave them," Irileth said, stopping Lydia in her tracks. "You won't be needing those where you're going." Lydia took a look back at her room, but turned and left to follow behind Irileth.

Lydia was both confused and surprised. First, Irileth came by her room, and asked her to follow her, and then she tells her to leave her things, because she apparently wouldn't need them. What kind of guard duty didn't require her weapons? She could only guess.

"What's going on here?" Lydia asked.

"You've been given a new position," Irileth said.

"A new position?" Lydia asked uncertainly, "Like a promotion?"

"Well, you _could_ call it a promotion, of sorts," Irileth said. "You've been named Housecarl by the Jarl himself."

Lydia almost fell over in surprise, but managed to keep herself from looking like a fool.

"Housecarl? Really?" she asked, undoubtedly excited.

Being named Housecarl was one of the greatest promotions that one could ever hope to gain. The title of housecarl was only given to the most talented, and trusted guards, one who would be worthy to serve their masters. Only the best of the best could be named housecarl, or even be worthy enough to consider, because a housecarl's duty was actually to protect their master. If she had been named housecarl, that meant that the Jarl himself deemed her to be good enough to be the protector of someone important, and trusted her enough to put their life in her hands, if such was the case.

Lydia was extremely excited, but she managed to contain it very well. She had never expected to be named Housecarl. She thought that she had gone the distance when she had been promoted to the Jarl's Royal Guard. At that moment, she thought of all the envious faces of the rest of her comrades in the guard, at her being named housecarl instead of them. _Let them be jealous,_ she thought, _I lasted long enough on the job to prove my worth._ While she knew that some of her comrades would be jealous, she knew that a few others would be happy for her. However, she had one question regarding her new duties.

"Who will I be serving?" she asked.

"You'll be serving the new Thane of Whiterun," Irileth said.

"I don't remember Whiterun having a Thane."

"It didn't. That's why I said Whiterun's _new_ Thane."

"What are they like?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the _surprise _for you."

The way Irileth said "surprise" almost worried Lydia, but she assumed that her demeanor had come from knowing that she was now at her rank, or at least, that she'd be at her same rank soon. Irileth was never too fond of her, and Lydia was never in a rush to try and befriend the easily-irritable dunmer. One would think that being one of the only few women in the guard would create an understanding between them. Evidently, such was not the case.

She was led into a large room, separate from the others, with several servants inside ready to give her her new equipment that came with the title of housecarl. There, she was outfitted in her new set of armor: an entire set of steel armor, minus the helmet. She was given a strong steel shield, comparatively better than the flimsy wooden one that was the standard-issue guard shield, and a Steel Sword. Her new sword was longer than the Imperial-styled shortswords that guards were sometimes given, and its blade was sharp as was possible. This new equipment wasn't cheap, she knew, but the title of housecarl came with its benefits.

As the outfitters put the last bits of armor on her, and they finished tidying her up ("You need to make a good first impression on the Thane, we can't have your face covered in dirt, dear,"), they stepped away, and allowed her to look at herself. What she saw was a woman of steel, one who looked like she could take on the world if she wanted to.

She twisted her torso this way and that, testing the mobility that this new armor would give her. It was a bit heavier than she was used to, as was expected, but not uncomfortably so, and the steel equipment would protect her better than the light scaled armor that guards typically wore. As she looked at herself, she could not help but smile. She felt like a true warrior, and with the steel encasing her entire body, she felt almost indestructible as well. She looked just as strong and capable as she felt, in her opinion. At that moment, she wondered what her new Thane would think of her when she first saw her.

She wondered what her Thane would be like. A person could only be named Thane when they did a heroic deed, and were seen as deserving of the title. Women could be named Thane, but more often than not it would be a man. What kind of man had the Jarl gifted the title of Thane, and what heroic deed did they do? Her mind began to fantasize of the different ways her Thane might be. Maybe her Thane was a muscular Nord man who could wield a War hammer as if it were not there, or maybe her Thane would be a battle-hardened warrior, who would take her with him on his adventures.

She almost laughed at herself. She felt so childish, fantasizing about her Thane like a young woman would about their future spouse. But then, the thought struck her: what if her Thane wasn't an honorable warrior, like she had imagined him to be so far? She remembered the way Irileth had told her how she wouldn't want to "spoil the surprise" for her, and now she was starting to worry. Maybe her Thane was a thief who had gotten lucky. Maybe her Thane was a stuck-up mage. Maybe they were an assassin who had somehow gotten ahold of the title of Thane…

She shook her head. This was no way to be thinking. The title of housecarl was a duty that only a few could wish to have. There was much honor in the duty of housecarl, and she was determined to fulfill it, regardless of who her Thane was. There had been stories about the relationships between Thanes and their Housecarls, both good and bad. Some Thanes had gone mad, and their Housecarls had become their victim while they slept. Other stories said how Housecarls had been mistreated by their Thanes during their service. On the other hand, she had once heard of a story where a Thane and their Housecarl had a powerful relationship, even to the point of them falling in love, and getting married.

Lydia subconsciously blushed as she thought of the last story. Of course, the thought of getting married had entered her mind before, on more than one occasion. Regardless, she always believed that she didn't need nor want to get married. Her place wasn't in the garden, or in the kitchen, as was the belief with most women, the "proper" ones. No, _her_ place was out in the world, actually doing things, like she had been doing for a while now. Any hope and desire of being married had gone when she had left for a job as a guard. Any husband that she'd potentially have would have to contend with her constant moving around, and her dislike for staying cooped up inside one place too long. It would take a miracle for _that_to happen, and she wasn't holding her breath for it.

Irileth walked up to her, looked her over quickly, and said, "Well, it'll have to do. Come on, then. Time for you to meet your Thane."

Irileth turned around and began walking again, not bothering to see if Lydia was following her. Lydia did follow her, and walked along, her heavy armor clanking slightly as she followed the other housecarl. They turned a corner, and Lydia saw the doorway to the Jarl's main room. Irileth stopped, and turned to face Lydia. She almost walked into her because of the suddenness of her stopping.

"Now listen here," Irileth said, "I'm not always sure what's going through the Jarl's head, but he made you housecarl for a reason. I trust in his judgement, but do _not_ make him regret his decision."

Lydia nodded in affirmation.

"Alright," Irileth said, "the Thane is in the next room. Be ready for your entrance."

Lydia's stomach got butterflies at that moment. Yes, she was nervous to meet her Thane, who wouldn't? She had no idea what the man - or woman, possibly - was like. Every single possibility of what her Thane would be like flashed by her mind, some good, some bad, and Lydia had to take a deep breath to calm herself. She put on a professional expression, one that would show her Thane how serious she was on her duty. Lydia braced herself, and made a promise to herself at the same time: No matter who her Thane was or what they were like, she would treat them with the respect they deserve, and she will fulfill her duties as housecarl, regardless of what they were like. Irileth walked through the door. Lydia took a deep breath, and walked through the doorway, following Irileth.

Upon entering the room, Lydia looked around, trying to see if she could identify the one who she would have to call her Thane. She scanned the room, but only saw the Jarl, his two guards standing besides him, and an…Argonian?

Lydia's eyes locked onto the only Argonian in the room. Disgusting lizards, her father had called them. Now, curling her lip in disgust, looking at one right in front of her, she could only agree with him. More beast than man, these things were simply horrendous. This one had repulsive dark-green scales, and dark red war paint went over his eyes. Two horns stuck out the back of his head, and smaller ones lined his eye ridges. To top it all off, he had disgusting yellow eyes with dark slits for pupils. He wore Imperial armor, unmistakable in its design and colors. Was he part of the Imperial army? She'd never heard of an Argonian being part of the Empire's army. True, the Empire allowed any race in their ranks, but an Argonian among them was rare. A hunting bow and sword made up his weapons, along with an empty quiver of arrows.

He looked back at her with those yellow eyes, the slits looking her over. By the way he pulled back his lips in distaste, showing off rows of sharp, white teeth, she knew that her distaste for him was apparent, and, as it seemed, it was a mutual feeling.

"Lydia," the Jarl said, giving her a warning look, "I'd like you to meet Whiterun's newest Thane." He gestured towards the Argonian standing a few feet away in front of him. "He's the one who went to the Wester Watchtower earlier today, and killed the dragon. He is also, as strange as it may sound, the Dragonborn of Legend."

If she had been eating something, she would have choked, surely. Her eyebrows shot up, her eyes widened by a fraction, but she did not open her mouth in shock. That would have made her look like an fool. Her expression of surprise disappeared as quickly as it came, and her face immediately returned to the professional guise that she had put on before she entered. She began her walk towards her Thane, all the while thinking _Oh gods. Oh no, no, no, this can _not_ be happening!_ She had been prepared for the worst when she prepared to meet her Thane. Unfortunately, as it seemed, she forgot to think of the possibility of her Thane not even being human.

_Why? Why an Argonian? Why not an Imperial, or a Breton or Nord? An elven race would have been better! Even an Orsimer would have been better! Even a Khajiit would have been better! At least they're warm-blooded! she thought._

Regardless of every thought racing through her mind, she walked up to him, and stopped. Then, she pulled out her sword, and kneeled before her new Thane, balancing herself with the weapon.

"The Jarl has appointed me to…be your housecarl," said Lydia. _Why did the Jarl do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?_ "It is… an honor…to be your housecarl." She shut her eyes as she said that last sentence.

"That's good enough, Lydia," said the Jarl. Lydia immediately stood up, and sheathed her sword into its scabbard. Her face still had remnants of the grimness she was feeling on the inside at her situation. She had just sworn herself into the service of an Argonian. She was now bound to him by her honor, and by her duty, to protect and serve him, no matter what the cost… even her own life. What had she gotten herself into?

"Good to have that out of the way," said the Jarl. "I advise you," the Jarl said, speaking with the Argonian this time, "to begin your journey to the Greybeards as soon as possible."

The Argonian didn't say anything, he simply nodded. At this, Lydia scowled. How could this man show such disrespect to the Jarl? When the Jarl spoke to you, you spoke back, not shake your head like some mute. He may have been a foreigner, as it was uncommon for Argonians to be found in Skyrim, but even he would know to treat a man of the Jarl's stature with respect.

However, instead of being angry, the Jarl sat back into his chair, and said, "Good. You can leave now."

The Argonian turned around, and began to walk away. Seeing him leave, Lydia almost forgot to follow him. She hurriedly walked past the guards at the door and followed after the Argonian outside. She had wanted to ask the Jarl so many things. Had she been given the chance, more likely than not most of them would have probably sounded more like complaining. However, as was not the case, she simply walked after the Argonian. He walked through Whiterun, down the steps leading up to Dragonsreach, and went into the market district. He walked up to the General Goods store, looked up at its sign to identify what it was, and pushed the door inside. Lydia, still several feet away after having fallen behind, walked into Belethor's General Goods store.

The store was small, which made it easy for her to spot her Thane standing in front of the main desk, where Belethor, the shop owner, stood, making transactions. Lydia looked over her Thane's shoulder, and saw that he was giving the man several valuable items, such as garnets, amethysts, and even a silver ring with a gemstone encrusted on it.

"Where did you find loot like _that_?" Lydia asked, "did you rob a town treasury?" It was a half-joking, half-honest question. The Argonian didn't even turn around, as if he didn't hear her.

"I got these things from Bleak Falls Barrow," he finally said.

"What would you be doing inside a sacred Nordic temple?" she asked.

"Getting an artifact for your court wizard," he said. He handed the man the last of the gems, and the shop keep handed him a sack of gold coins in return. With those coins, the Argonian bought some things, such as a supply of iron arrows, to which he seemed a bit more relaxed in having it full, and some potions. When he made the last of his transactions, he grabbed the last of his items, turned around, and walked away. Lydia followed behind him.

Once outside, Lydia had to go at a trot to keep up with her Thane. He seemed angry, at what she couldn't tell, nor did she care. He looked over his shoulder at her, then turned around.

"Stop following me," he said.

She shook her head, and responded, "I cannot do that, my Thane."

"And why _not?_" he asked her, obviously displeased.

"Because I am your Housecarl. I am sworn to be at your side," she said.

"Oh come, now," he said, "Even I can see that you don't want to do this. Just…leave me. I don't want any company."

"I cannot do that, my Thane. It is by my honor that I abide by my duty."

"So? Just take it back. I don't _want_ you following me around!"

"My Thane, I cannot do that," she said, "I am sworn to be at your side by my honor. The title of a housecarl cannot be _taken back_."

He glared at her angrily with those yellow eyes of his. She stood her ground in defiance. The concept of honor may not exist where he came from, but to any self-respecting Nord, it was what mattered most, next to family. She didn't know much about Argonians, just what she had been told. So far, those people's knowledge on these things had been correct: ungrateful, hideous, and cold.

Sighing, he finished glaring at her, and then turned, walking into the Bannered Mare, Whiterun's local tavern. She followed him inside obediently. This Argonian was proving himself to be very frustrating. Normally, she wouldn't mind her Thane. If he were just a normal person, who wasn't so…abrasive towards her, then she could simply be his housecarl, without having to go through all this fuss. Unfortunately, it seemed that he couldn't make her job easier for her by being a bit less bitter. The Argonian went and sat in the far corner of the tavern, with Lydia following him. The Redguard waitress came by and took his order, which was a mug of mead, and her order, the same, before she left. The two were left in an awkward and uncomfortable silence.

"So," Lydia began, her hands on her lap. "What kind of fighting style do you use?" she asked. The Argonian looked at her strangely.

"What kind of question is that?" he asked.

"If I'm going to be working with someone like _you_," she said, "then I think that it'd be best to at least know what I'm going to be working with." She crossed her arms, awaiting an answer.

"If it'll get you to be quiet," he said, "…I'm a pretty good shot with a bow. I'm not that good with a sword. I know a bit of basic magic and…I'm good at unarmed fighting."

Lydia raised an eyebrow at that last part. Unarmed fighting? What kind of fighting was that? One where you didn't use a weapon? In Skyrim, they didn't fight without weapons unless it was a tavern brawl, and even those usually included a spare dagger or a broken bottle.

"Unarmed fighting?" she asked. "So you fight with your fists? You're worse than I expected…" she hadn't meant to say that last part aloud, but by the way the Argonian growled, she knew he had heard.

"You wouldn't understand," he said, "you're just like the rest of your kind here, in Skyrim."

The Redguard waitress came back with his mug of mead. He immediately picked it up, and put the mug to his mouth. Then, much like a young man who's having his first drink, his eyes widened, and he quickly removed the mug from his mouth, before setting it down on the table. He didn't even drink mead, then?

"What do you mean, I'm like the rest of my kind?" she asked.

"You're narrow-minded, and don't care to understand anything," he said, pushing the mug a little bit farther away from his body.

Ignoring his response, she asked another question: "Are you an Imperial soldier?"

He snarled, and said, "I am _not_ part of the Imperial army!"

"Then why-"

"I had to get this armor when I was escaping Helgen. It was either that, or pry it off a dead Stormcloak's body."

"Okay then, so what do you-"

"Enough with the questions," said the Argonian. "My life is my business, not yours. _Just._ _Leave. Me. Alone._ I'm having a very bad day."

She looked at him, and said, "But my Thane, I need to know-"

"I am _not_ your Thane!" he said, gripping the table with his clawed fingers. "I don't want to be a hero, I don't even want to be in Skyrim!"

He sighed, and added, "Why can't you just go back to your Jarl?"

"I already told you, the duty of a housecarl-"

"Don't you know what a _rhetorical question is?_" he growled. She almost jumped back in surprise, but kept her professional expression intact.

He shut his eyes, breathed in deeply, then breathed out, and calmed himself down. It mildly surprised her how he had backed down so quickly. Regardless, she decided that it would be best to leave him alone, if anything for her own safety. She knew what an Argonian's claws could do… she shuddered at the unwanted memory that popped up.

"Can you at least tell me what your name is, then?" she said, pushing the memory aside.

The Argonian looked at her, but he sighed, and replied: "Archer."

"…That's it?" she said. "Just Archer?" She had been expecting some exotic sort of name for an Argonian, or at least one that was translated from the Argonian language into Cyrodillic, as was typical for an Argonian.

"I don't need another name," he said. "Besides, if I had remembered my native name and then told you, I'd have to laugh at how horribly you'd pronounce it."

He looked into his mug, but didn't drink it. Instead, he slumped back into his chair, deep in thought.

"They're telling me that I have to go climb some mountain," he said. "To see those Greybeards."

"Then you must go," Lydia said simply. The Argonian's scowl deepened, and he sat upright.

"Those people are mad if they expect _me_ to go up there," he said. "I'm not going to do that." Lydia looked at him, shocked.

"You cannot simply defy the call of the Greybeards," she said. "They haven't called for a Dragonborn in centuries, at least! You should consider yourself lucky, having such influential people as the Greybeards calling someone like _you._" She was referring to someone of his race when she said the last part.

"I am an Argonian," he said. "I'm cold-blooded, yet you people expect me to go up a freezing mountain?"

"You can't just not do it," Lydia said. "As Dragonborn, it is your du-"

"Do _not_ call me _Dragonborn,_" he growled. She shut her mouth in mid-sentence. "I have _no duty_ here, and I am done talking about this." He got up, and paid for a room upstairs, for the night. He took the key, and walked up the stairs.

_At least I got a name out of him,_ she thought. She was sure that this Argonian wouldn't answer any more of her questions, at least for today. She finally settled for drinking her own mead. After a while, it had gotten late. Lydia got her own room, and the newly-appointed housecarl went upstairs. Lydia walked through the door to her room, and closed it behind her. Once inside, she sighed, and slumped down on a chair.

She put her hands to her temples, and sighed again. Gods, this was going to be difficult. So far, she had done the best she could to avoid insulting her Thane outright. Any sensible housecarl would never insult their Thane in such a way. Any time she could have easily called him a lizard, or a creature, but her honor was on the line, and to insult her Thane would be a stain on her honor. This would have all been easier if that damned_lizard _wasn't so aggressive towards her.

Why, out of all the possible guards had she been selected? Even though she knew she was one of the Jarl's select few best guards, she knew a few others who were even better than she. A better question, she thought, would be: why would the Jarl give an _Argonian_ the title of Thane? Worst of all, why had they been paired up?

_This isn't going to work, _she thought. So far, they had proven to be like oil and water together, they will simply refuse to mix. She didn't want to be stuck with him, and he didn't want her around anyways. She didn't even know if he was sane or not. He might have held himself back in the tavern, but what if he didn't? Did these things even have the same morals that Nords did? She wondered what he'd do if he knew that the duty of housecarl followed her to the death…

She shook her head. She couldn't think of that, not on the first day. She guessed that it'd be better if she simply kept her head down and hoped for the best. Hopefully, Archer wouldn't mind her presence, and things would be fine… right? She could only hope.

Her Thane had proven himself to be quite frustrating to work with, but it wouldn't matter. She would have to serve, because her honor depended on it, even if it seemed unappealing at the moment. She remembered Irileth's words. She would now disappoint her Jarl.

Sighing, she took off her armor, climbed into bed, and went to sleep, wondering what life under her new Thane would be like.

**A/N: I'm sorry if the chapter seemed a bit lacking in the action section, nothing really happens yet. Don't worry, next chapter should have plenty of that.**

**Please review if you liked the story and want to say so or have a critique that you'd like to share with me!**


	6. Denial

**A/N: Finally, next chapter! I'd just like to point out that this story already has more views than my first one, despite having about 10 less chapters... I'd call that progress! **

**On a different note, I've got Archer's picture uploaded on my profile page, go check it out! **

Archer awoke slowly, as was usual for him. He groaned softly, and turned so that he lay on his stomach, his face against the pillow. It was normal for him to stay in bed longer than when he woke up, he guessed that it was part of his nature, being Argonian. He wanted to simply lie in bed and absorb the warmth of the blankets, and not have to go outside, where Skyrim's ever-present cold would make him feel colder. However, he knew that he'd have to get up eventually.

He saw thin strings of light seeping through cracks in the ceiling, and decided that it'd be a good time to start getting ready for the day. Archer grabbed a shirt that he had, having slept in only a loincloth for the night, and pulled it over his head, taking caution not to tear it with his horns. He had bought new clothes in the Riverwood trader when he had stayed there the night before returning to Whiterun with the Dragonstone, because the Imperial soldiers had stripped him of all his belongings when they took him to execution. He had always been a law-abiding citizen, and having been taken prisoner for no real reason had displeased him, but he usually wasn't one to hold a grudge.

When he was completely dressed, he gathered all of his belongings into his pack. He pushed the door out to the hallway of the inn. Once there, he looked both ways, trying to see if he could see that detestable _Nord_ from yesterday, his so-called _housecarl_. He knew she didn't find the idea of serving under him, an Argonian, appealing whatsoever; he had seen her disgusted look when she caught sight of him, it was a sight that he had become all too familiar with. The way she looked at him was merely a sight that he had been used to ignoring, for the most part. Cyrodiil had its own share of racists too, but people would usually not care if you were an Argonian or not, they'd usually treat you the same as any other person. However, in Cyrodiil, the racism had never been nearly as bad as it was here in Skyrim. He had barely been in Skyrim for… 4 days now, he guessed, and he'd already been prejudiced by several people. While he may have been used to ignoring the hateful glares that people sent his way at times, it didn't mean he liked them, and he didn't want to have to deal with the disgusted looks his housecarl would be sending his way. With any luck, he'd be able to get out before she noticed.

Deeming the coast to be clear, he quietly stepped out into the hall, and shut the door behind him. He made sure that the door's squeaking hinges made as little sound as possible. The door finally shut as silently as was possible, and Archer stepped back from it. He turned around, and quickly began making his way back the hall, and down the stairs. However, halfway there, he bumped into someone in his rush.

"Oh, sorry abo-" he began, but his expression turned stony when he saw who it was.

"Look who decided to wake up so _early_," Lydia said, crossing her arms.

Not saying a word, Archer pushed his way past her. He was not in the mood for her sarcasm, and he just wanted some breakfast before things got heated, which they undoubtedly would. He made his way down to the lower floor, where the tavern was. It seemed that it was more than just the local drinkers that had stayed the night here, because the tavern was unusually full for the time of day it was. Archer walked over to a chair in the corner, away from the rest of the crowd, and ordered some breakfast for himself, making sure to clarify that he wanted _water_ with his food; he'd found out his first time in Skyrim that these people will automatically assume that you want mead or ale with your food if you don't tell them otherwise. Lydia ordered her own food, mead included, and sat down next to Archer at the table.

"Why do you have to sit next to me?" Archer asked.

"There aren't any more seats in the room, _My Thane_," Lydia responded, gesturing to the occupied tables in the room. It was obvious that she wasn't in a humorous mood either, by the resentful tone she had used.

Their food came, with Archer having ordered a simple meal of bread and some meat. Judging by what Lydia had on her plate - a good amount of grain with some egg, prime energy-building foods, she'd probably have something planned for later today to make use of the energy that the food would be giving her. Archer's water and Lydia's mead came along moments later, and they began to eat in silence. Only the music of the local bard playing his lute and the sound of the other tavern's residents speaking could be heard.

"Why don't you have any armor on?" Lydia finally asked him.

"I don't wish to call attention to myself with my kind of armor," he responded simply. He'd had about enough with people calling him an Imperial soldier, and being asked the same question several times. It seemed that there were several Stormcloak sympathizers in Skyrim, those whose loyalty lied with the rebel group in Skyrim's civil war, who wanted Skyrim to break off from the Empire, he had learned, and always got the wrong idea when they saw him wearing the Empire's Legion armor.

"My Thane," Lydia said after a moment of silence, "If we are to get to the Greybeards, then we'll have to go to Ivarstead, which is at the other side of the mountains. Me might make good time if we leave as soon-"

"I'm not going to Ivarstead," Archer said, taking a bite out of a small loaf of bread. Lydia looked at him.

"Are you still going through with this "I'm not the Dragonborn" act?" she asked.

"I already said it, I don't owe this country anything, and I will not be doing what a culture different from mine tells me to do."

"Why do you persist in keeping up this act? You can _not_ just ignore the call of the Greybeards!" Lydia said, exasperated.

"Oh yeah? Just watch me," Archer said.

"My Thane-"

"I am not _your Thane_!" Archer growled. "Just go back to your Jarl already, and leave me in peace!"

"Why do you insist on not doing what you've been called to do?" Lydia asked, gripping her mead bottle tightly.

Archer neglected to respond, and instead chose to eat silently, ignoring her for the most part.

"…My Thane, are you ignoring me?" she asked.

He didn't respond, hoping that she'd leave him alone. He heard her sigh, and turn her attention back to her mead. He caught sight of her glancing at him from the corner of his eye, before she turned back to her drink.

"_Weak-livered milk drinker"_, he heard her silently say, before lifting the mug of hers up to her face to drink.

They both finished, and Archer got up, before paying for his meal and leaving. Lydia sauntered after him. Archer walked through the market district, and entered Whiterun's Local Weapons and Armor store, Warmaiden's.

The inside was relatively simple, much like all the other buildings. Shelves with items on them were seen, and a rug on the floor was placed in front of the entrance. Large, two-handed Iron battle axes and shields were some of the things that were seen hanging on weapons racks inside, showing off the store's merchandise. Archer walked up to the Nord man at the counter, and pulled out his Imperial armor set.

"I'd like to sell these," he said, placing the pieces of armor on the table. The Nord looked at him, but took the armor after a moment of judging price. It was normal for retired soldiers or soldiers in debt to sell off their armor, and this Nord had probably seen his fair share of them in his career, Archer assumed. The Nord gave him a bag of gold coins in return, and Archer took it.

"That's 140 gold pieces, there," said the Nord. "Anything else?" asked the man.

"Actually, yes," Archer said, "Do you have any Light Armor I could buy?"

"Sure, I'll show you what we've got in store," said the man, stepping away from the counter. "Right this way."

Archer followed the man to the back room, where the armor was kept in storage. There, he got a look at the armor the store had in stock. Amongst the assembly of armor pieces, he saw some simple iron helmets, studded armor, and fur boots, as well as some more-expensive looking armor, such as an Orcish-style helmet, which would cost him a fortune if he ever wanted to buy one, let alone an entire set. However, due to his preferred manner of combat, relying on stealth to ambush his enemies, he'd never have the need to buy Orcish armor, which tended to be very heavy and loud,and would be more likely to hinder him more than protect him. It was a shame that the Orcs never made light armor that he'd heard of. From what he had heard, no self-respecting Orc would be caught wearing Light Armor. Then again, that could just be another racial stereotype…

"I think that this'll be what you're looking for," said the owner.

Archer looked to see that the store owner had come up with a brand-new entire set of Leather Armor. It was just what Archer could have hoped for. A nice tanned brown color, perfect for blending in with the environment, complete with fur paddings to suppress sound. His old armor was made up of a battered mix of different types of light armor, primarily leather and fur. This would undoubtedly be better than what he used to have, and offer slightly more protection than his old Imperial Light armor too.

"Yes, that'll do just fine," Archer said, "but without the helmet."

He handed the man the gold coin bag that he had been given, along with a bit more extra coins; the leather armor was more expensive than what the Imperial Armor had been worth, even without including the leather helmet. It wouldn't fit him if he tried anyways. The Nord man left the room to give him privacy to change. He put on the armor as best as he could, given all its latches and bits. It was never easy to put on an entire set of armor, especially when completely alone, but he would eventually manage. It took him a while, but he finally put the last bit of armor on, and then took a look at himself.

He twisted this way and that, trying to get a feel for the new leather. It was stiff, but he supposed that it'd get better with time. Nobody would see or hear him Studded Imperial armor was light armor too, but made more noise than the padded leather armor he was wearing. He felt sleek and dangerous, and, with the armor strapped tight to his body like a second skin, it gave him a nice sense of protection, even if it couldn't compare to how well protected he'd be in Heavy Armor. Hopefully, if that Nord wouldn't give away his position with her painfully loud armor, then he'd never have to fight head-on battles.

"I don't see how that's supposed to protect you," he heard Lydia say behind him. He turned his head around to look at her. How long had she been standing there?

"There's no way that armor can stop a sword," she added.

"That's because this kind of armor wasn't made for direct combat," he replied, turning to face her. "I'm not exactly the kind of person who will rush into battle letting out a war cry, unlike you _Nords_."

"There's no honor in shooting at your foes in the back from the shadows like a _coward_," Lydia replied.

Archer glared at her, but pushed his way past her. He thanked the man for the armor, and walked out of the store. Once outside, he stopped for a moment, deciding where to go. Going to that desolate little town he'd been told to go to would be at the bottom of his extensive list. But he didn't want to really leave Skyrim just yet.

He'd been in Skyrim so far only on other people's tasks. He hadn't been around Skyrim on his own time, and he'd grown interested in this new land. He'd never explored the wildlife of Skyrim, or its caves, or anything. It was a lot like Cyrodiil, in a way, if you subtracted the hostile residents and the ever-present chill in the air. He decided that maybe he wanted to actually explore this new province for once, instead of going out someplace to do something for someone else.

He made his way out of the city's gates, and looked out into the far-off scenery. It was actually very nice, he thought to himself. He always liked admiring the beauty of nature at times, when he walked along the open roads, wondering where his travels would take him next. Sometimes, he'd travel off-road just to be able to catch a glimpse of the sights that would normally be hidden from view if he travelled by road. From where he stood, he could see the outlying forested regions, the plains, and the Western Watchtower. Off in the distance, however, he also saw a seemingly-abandoned structure not a mile away. Contrasting heavily against the background, the fort would definitely provide for something fun to explore.

He began to walk towards the fortress in the distance, walking down the worn-out cobblestone path, excitedly wondering about the contents of the fort. It was not an uncommon sight in Cyrodiil to see an abandoned ruin or fortress. In fact, some of them weren't exactly abandoned yet, either; some had bandits living in them, or different sorts of vile creatures. If Skyrim were anything like Cyrodiil, or at least, in regards to the ruins and their tendencies to have temporary residents, then he knew what he'd probably be up against.

"My Thane, Ivarstead is _that_ way," Lydia said, pointing to a fork in the road that Archer had passed.

"Well, I'm going _this _way," he tersely replied.

"My Thane, we _need_ to get to High Hrothgar, the Greybeards might have something to-"

"High Hrothgar isn't going anywhere, and neither are the Greybeards," Archer said. "I, however, _am_ going somewhere."

"And just where would that be?" Lydia asked.

"That fort, over there," he said. Lydia squinted to look over at it, and her eyebrows rose when she realized what it was.

"Fort Greymoor? You're going to Fort Greymoor?" she asked. "It's full of Bandits, why would you want to go there? You'll get yourself killed!"

"I've done this before, I know how to take care of a few Bandits," he said, "I survived the Dragon attack on Helgen, you know."

Then, he added: "Why all the sudden caring about my welfare?" He kept walking towards the fort in the distance, with Lydia following him.

"I don't care about your welfare, but I'm your protector, and I have to make sure you stay alive," she said, sauntering behind him, "You're going to make it harder for me to do my duty if you go in there. You might have just gotten lucky with that dragon in Helgen, but in that fort, luck won't be enough to save you. It won't be just a few bandits either, as you say, but many."

Archer kept ignoring her, for the most part, and got closer to the fort. He dropped to a crouch, and began to make his way towards a small hill near the structure. He peeked out from behind the crest of the hill, and just as he had hoped, he could observe the fort's battlements from his concealed position. Several armed figures lined the top of the fort's walls, watching out for intruders. He pulled out his hunting bow, but this time, he'd be hunting a different kind of game. He was confident in his abilities, because he'd done this sort of thing before. Granted, he'd done it with help from his father, who Archer considered a sort of veteran at adventuring, but he could do this.

"My Thane," she said, "don't you see all those bandits guarding the battlements? You cannot possibly take them all on at once!"

Archer looked at her strangely, then sighed when he realized what she was talking about.

"Lydia…those are combat dummies."

He saw her look again towards the fort to confirm his suspicions. The top of the fort was indeed lined with combat dummies holding weapons, probably to trick people from afar of their actual numbers. There were, however, a few real bandits who were on top of the fort, bows in hand or slung on their backs. He'd have to take the archers out first, but quietly.

"Combat dummies or not, if you insist on assaulting this fort," Lydia said, "then I hope you've got a plan."

"I do have a plan, and it involves you keeping back," Archer said over his shoulder.

He wouldn't be able to do this if she called attention to them. With her heavy armor, she almost undoubtedly would. It almost seemed a wonder how they hadn't already been spotted. He pulled out an arrow, and aimed at one bandit while the other was turned away.

"Watch and learn," Archer whispered, before letting the arrow fly.

The bandit fell dead moments later, an arrow through his head. His companion barely noticed, and continued looking away from his now-dead comrade, going about his own business. He too was eliminated with an expertly-placed shot. He scanned the top of the fort, but there were no more archers that he could see. The overwatch was dead, but now he had to actually get inside. Archer weighed his options; a frontal assault would be a suicide charge for him. There was no way he could scale the sheer side of the wall, either. He may have had claws, but if he used them to climb, they'd probably break off, which would be undoubtedly painful. He checked his bag for anything possibly useful for infiltrating the fort. He came up with a white vial, an invisibility potion.

He downed the flask's contents, and almost instantly felt - and saw - the effects. He looked down at his hands, and was pleased to see that he couldn't actually see them. He reached back for his bow, and turned to Lydia.

"If you hear fighting, _then_ you can help," Archer told her, making sure to get his point across with as few words as possible; the potion's effects would only last up to a minute, at best.

Crouching, he stealthily made his way towards the fort's front entrance. Once inside, he could see several bandits out in the courtyard, all of them minding their own business, not knowing the whereabouts of the Argonian who was going to pick them off one by one. Archer situated himself at the top of the Fort's wall, where one of the dead archers lay, and braced himself for battle. He nocked an arrow into his bow, fumbling a bit with his invisible arrows, and took careful aim at a bandit that was facing his still-invisible form. When he let go of the string, the potion's effects would dispel, and he'd be visible once more. It was a shame that magic wasn't yet perfected.

He let the arrow fly at the bandit, catching him through the head. The sickening squelch of an arrow penetrating the skull could be heard from where he stood. The other bandits in the fort heard the bandit's death, and they all turned to look at him, the potion's effects having dissipated the moment he let the arrow fly. They all began to run at him, but they had to run up a set of steps before they could reach him, giving Archer time to load another arrow. Backtracking and taking aim again, another bandit fell dead, but there were still two left, and they were getting nearer. One was trying to shoot him down with a bow, hanging back, and the other was charging at him, wearing protective iron plate armor. As it seemed, Lydia finally heard the sounds of their conflict, and Archer saw her rushing in through the fort's entrance, weapons at the ready. She began to assault the archer, who was forced to draw his sword from the close quarters. By now, the bandit in heavy armor was almost at him.

He let go of his bow, not having time to put it back on, and his left hand instinctually flew forwards to catch the bandit's sword arm as it swung overhead. The arm was stopped in mid-swing, to the shock of the bandit. Archer's free hand balled up into a fist, and fired forwards at the Bandit's jaw. Spit and blood came out the bandit's mouth as his scaled fist connected with the bandit's unprotected jaw, almost knocking him unconscious. Archer's hand opened up, showing off five deadly claws, and he slashed the bandit's throat open with them, his claws registering with the unprotected skin with a squelch. The bandit made gurgling sounds as he tried to breathe through a severed windpipe, his hand letting go of the weapon he held. Archer finally let go of the man's arm, letting his dying body fall backwards.

Archer wiped the blood on his claws off on his armor with a disgusted look on his face, the substance creating small red streaks on the leathers. He picked up his bow, and walked back down the steps, making sure to avoid the blood that was pooling around the deceased bandit's dead body; anyone knew how hard it was to clean blood off, especially when it stuck to leather. He caught sight of Lydia staring at him, the bandit archer's dead body lying on the floor a foot away from her. Something about her was off, however. She seemed…distant, almost, as if she were deep in thought, or remembering something. If he were someone who actually cared, he would have asked her what was wrong.

Seeing how he stared at her, she finally seemed to snap back into reality, and looked back at him.

"I've never seen someone do that," she muttered, looking away. Archer turned his attention away from her, dismissing her behavior, and looking towards the fort's door. In there, they'd be at closer quarters, but if he could keep quiet, they'd never suspect a thing. The clanking of Lydia's armor behind him as she followed reminded him of the third variable that would undoubtedly change the outcome of this assault. _If only she wasn't as graceful and quiet as a drunk Giant_, he thought, but he wasn't about to let her ruin his chance at enjoying himself with doing something that _he_ wanted to do.

"Do you really want to clear out this fort?" she asked.

"I cannot help myself," Archer said, smirking at her.

"As you wish…" she said with a sigh.

With that last sentence, he went in.

…

Lydia watched as the lizard opened the door cautiously, and snuck in, crouched low. It figured that he'd still be acting this way. What he was doing was cowardly, in Nord standards. How she was taught, you were supposed to give your enemies a chance to fight back, as was the honorable way to do battle. Not even letting them know you're there by shooting them in the back? No self-respecting Nord would be caught trying a coward's move like that. Well, he _was_ an Argonian, she supposed, savage beasts with no concept of honor, taking the easy way out, and claiming undeserved victory. But, as she saw, she wouldn't be able to do anything to convince him to fight like a Nord; he'd probably get killed anyways. She knew that he wasn't good with a sword, and by the way he fought, that he wasn't a trained warrior either. When his killing instinct kicked in, he wouldn't pull out a sword, like she would. Instead, he had the instinct to pull out his bow, or lash out with his claws, the latter having proven to be lethally effective. She still remembered the way those claws had cut through that bandit's throat with such ease…

Once again, the same painful memory came up, the one that she wanted to forget, yet she couldn't. She shook it out of her head; she had to serve under an Argonian now, she couldn't be reminded of why she hated them.

The first room they entered led to three different rooms, all in different directions. He went down the rightmost passage, still creeping soundlessly, his footsteps barely making a sound as they touched the stone floor. While he may have been a coward, he was damn good at what he did, Lydia admitted. He had an arrow on his bow, prepared to fire it off at a moments notice. His eyes darted this way and that, taking in all his surroundings, taking in every detail. The entire room was silent, enough for her to hear her own breathing. Yet even with all the silence, she couldn't even hear his own breathing, as if he were afraid that the very sound of his breathing would disturb the silence. What kind of life did he lead before coming to Skyrim, she had to wonder.

The silence was thick with anticipation, almost feeling like she could cut the tension in the air with a knife. She felt like she was back at one of the old occupied forts that she had once been sent to clear during her time as a guard, along with her comrades. She wasn't scared then, and she wasn't scared now, either. There was a difference, however, between her situation back then and her current one; she had been surrounded by people she trusted, and who trusted her in return, and not in the company of a distrusting, temperamental Argonian.

He stopped abruptly, and raised his bow, pointing it towards a previously un-noticed room. Archer fired the arrow at a target that was out of her view, but she heard the effect: a bandit's gargled cry of pain. A Redguard man stumbled out of the room, his hands clutching an arrow at his throat, before falling to the floor.

"Hey! Over here!"

She turned her head to look at a bandit that had conveniently come in from the set of steps to their left at the same time they were out in the open. She heard Archer curse to himself, and put away his bow hurriedly. She smirked at her Thane, and got into a standing position; now it was time to show him what she could do.

She shouted a battle cry, and ran forwards to meet the bandit that was standing in the doorway. Another bandit ran in, but engaged Archer in combat instead. Her sword caught her foe's blade, and she blocked another swing of his weapon with her steel shield. The shield held like a wall, absorbing most of the energy of the weapon, causing it to bounce off harmlessly; it was a nice change from the loud thwacks that accompanied every strike on her old wooden shield. She then bashed the bandit with her shield, once, then again, striking the man's temple with her shield's rim. A squelch sounded as the shield made contact with his head. _That had to have been a skull fracture for sure._ The man fell sideways with a grunt of pain, staying on the floor, blood pouring out of the wound where her shield had struck him.

She turned to see Archer still fighting with his own opponent, a large Nord wielding a steel mace and shield. Archer fought very much like a new guard recruit who hadn't been through enough training, trying for a lunge, but instead hopping back at the smallest sign of an attack from the mace-wielding bandit. The Nord was keeping Archer at a distance, and using the advantage of having a shield against Archer. She ran in to help him, but another bandit ran towards her, sword raised high. She blocked the attack, and slammed her shield against his face, an audible cracking sound heard as her shield broke his nose. The bandit fell back, having dropped his sword, and Lydia walked up to his pained form. She plunged her sword into the man's chest, and twisted it, making his body go completely limp, before pulling out her bloodied blade once more.

She turned, and ran to help Archer, who had managed to drag the battle on for the entire time. The Nord swung his mace overhead, trying to smash Archer's skull in. Archer managed to step to one side, avoiding the mace, and then swung his own sword horizontally. The bandit ducked, but Lydia shoved her sword through his back, the blade tip visible from the other side. She pulled out her sword, coated red with blood, and the Nord's lifeless body slumped forwards to the ground.

"I see that close quarters isn't in your comfort zone," she noted, slamming her sword back into its sheath. "Sorry if face-to-face _man fighting _isn't what you expected."

"I wasn't trained to sword fight very extensively," Archer said, avoiding the increasingly-growing puddles of blood.

_What kind of father would neglect teaching their son how to properly fight with a sword?_ she thought, her hand on her hip. It was normal for any proper Nord father to teach his son how to fight with swords, and bows sometimes, at an early age. It would always be beneficial in the chance they'd be assaulted by bandits, or the like, and was also seen as a sort of sign for boys that were coming of age sign, where a young boy would be on his way to becoming a young man, who could protect himself and his future family.

Archer didn't stick around, and kept going down the passage from where the Bandits had come from, still sneaking, despite having just about alerted every living soul inside this fort. Shaking her head, she reluctantly followed.

Her Thane explored the rest of the Fort, taking whatever he deemed worth selling, with battered bits of armor and some jewelry from the bandits' loot among them. In her eyes, he seemed to be not much better than the very bandits they stalked, simply taking whatever he thought he could make some good coin off of. But, she supposed, it wasn't considered stealing if they were reclaiming the bandits' stolen goods.

After a few minutes, Archer had encountered a door to the lower sections of Fort Greymoor. He cautiously opened the door, taking care so that the door's rusted hinges made as little noise as possible, despite having not been properly oiled in a long time. She followed behind him, her Heavy Armor clanking as she walked. The sound of her armor could be heard in the near-deathly silence of the Fort, and Archer seemed to become annoyed by her with each step she took. Finally, he'd had just about enough, and turned to face her.

"Do you want to catch the attention of every single bandit in this fort?" he asked. "Keep _quiet!_"

"I cannot do that, My Thane, my armor prohibits it," she said as-a-matter-of-factly.

He growled, and returned his attention to the dark passage that was ahead of them. The hallway they had entered was dark, lit only by a few stray candles in this section, giving off a weak, dim light. As they walked, Archer stopped to look into a room, marked off by iron bars. Upon realizing what it was, and what its contents were, Archer pulled back his lips in distaste. Lydia looked to see a dead man's body inside a prison cell. This was the fort's prison, and apparently, it was where the bandits keep their "prisoners". It was not uncommon for bandits to kidnap people, and then demand ransom for their hostage. As it seemed, the poor man either didn't have any family to pay it, or nobody had enough gold to do so, and the man was left for dead. Things such as this were common in Skyrim, and it disgusted Lydia how people could sometimes act. One of the reasons she had become a guard in the first place was because she wanted to be the one to bring an end to things such as this. It was good to see that she wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Damn bandits," Archer said, nocking an arrow into his bow, "we'll be doing these people a favor by clearing out this fort."

"Since when did you become the ever-so chivalrous Argonian?" Lydia asked.

Any possible retort to her question was drowned out by the war-cry of the two bandits that rushed at them out of the darkness. Lydia immediately turned to her attacker, and Archer let loose an arrow. The arrow hit the bandit, but it dimly bounced off the bandit's magically-conjured synthetic armor. He dropped his bow once more to draw his sword. After that, Lydia had to refocus her attention to her own attacker, who was slashing at her with an iron sword. She blocked the blow with her shield, and retaliated with her own sword swing. The bandit blocked the blow with his sword again, but Lydia continued to relentlessly swing at him. The bandit managed to keep parringy and blocking each of her swings with his sword, but neglected to launch his own attack.

She swung her sword down once more, and the bandit brought his own up to meet it. The sound of metallic screeching as the low-quality iron sword snapped under her high-quality steel sword filled Lydia's ears, as well as the anguished cry of pain as the bandit's arm was cut open. Lydia's sword had kept traveling even after the sword had been snapped, and the bandit was now left open to any number of finishing strikes. Lydia sent her sword into his gut, before pulling it out and slashing at his neck, sending him to the floor in a bloody heap. Lydia looked to see how her Thane's fight was going. From what she saw, it was not going too well.

The bandit and Archer were currently grappling, in a position where the heavily-muscled Nord was simply overpowering the Argonian. The Nord then smashed his forehead against Archer's, stunning the lizard. He pushed the Argonian down, and Archer was sent to the floor, in deep pain. The bandit got ahold of his battle axe, and raised it to finish Archer off. Archer shielded himself with his arms in a vain attempt to protect himself from the incoming axe. Lydia's sword entered the bandit's flank, just as he had the axe in an overhead position, going right through his ribs.

The bandit choked, blood beginning to seep out of his mouth, and Lydia pushed him off her sword. The bandit's body fell to one side along, with his axe. Lydia looked to see her Thane still on the floor, his hand on his head, his face contorted into a pained grimace. He got up on shaky legs, still in pain, but very much alive.

She looked at him, expectant for a sign of gratitude of some sort. She did not receive one, and instead, he looked at her, then back down to his bow on the floor. He bent down, and picked it up. He stood up, and began to walk away, towards a ladder at the end of a nearby room. _Ever the ungrateful one, isn't he,_ she thought.

Thankfully, the ladder led up to the battlements of the Fort again, outside. When she got out, she took a look around. The day hadn't gone by as long as she'd thought, as it was only around late morning. The top of Fort Greymoor's battlements provided for an exhilarating view of the landscape. From this high up, she could catch sight of the beauty that nature had to offer: Vast plains like brown, grassy seas that stretched out to the very edges of the forest, the very ones that the Plains district in Whiterun had been named after for their proximity to each other. While she had seen this before, she was still fiercely proud of the wild beauty of her homeland. Lydia knew she was lucky to be able to see this sort of beauty; Skyrim was a large tundra, and with that, several regions saw much more snow than Whiterun did. She looked, and was pleasantly surprised to see her Thane also admiring the view. She didn't think that someone like him would be able to admire and appreciate beauty, much less knew it when they saw it, but there he was, looking out into the vast wilderness, taking in the wild sights Skyrim had to offer.

"Alright," Lydia said, "you've had your fun."

"Yes, so now, we can go back to Whiterun to sell off these things," he said, hefting his bulky sack full of spare gear and valuable items from the inside of the fort. He began to walk down the steps on the battlements to the ground level. She sagged, but followed after him dutifully.

"As you wish…my Thane."

…

Archer walked out of Belethor's General Goods store, his coin purse heavier than it used to be even before he bought his armor from the store. He walked out with a pleased look on his face, while Lydia, who was behind him, was looking tired, and impatient.

"Okay, My Thane, you've done as you pleased," Lydia said, "but now we really should start preparing for our trip to Ivarstead."

"I've told you time and time again, I'm not going to Ivarstead," he said. "Why won't you just accept my decision?"

"Because you'd be crushing Skyrim's hope by leaving the country," she said. He didn't seem to care, and walked off to the Bannered Mare. She followed behind him, thinking of excuses for him to not leave.

She wasn't going to let this Argonian, their only chance at being able to effectively fight back agains these dragons, walk away. The legends spoke of only one Dragonborn, and if she was to believe his accounts, then he was their only hope. She had to convince him to somehow stay. Archer promptly sat down on a chair in the same dark corner they'd sat at in the morning, and asked for some lunch. She sat beside him, still thinking of some way to persuade Archer to not leave Skyrim. She didn't want to see her home country reduced into a pile of ashes by a few flying lizards.

"Look," she said, "what cost is it to you to go up a mountain to hear what the Greybeards have to say?" she asked.

"Why should I care about what they want to tell me?" he said, sitting back in his chair. "If they could cure me of this…this _taint_, then maybe I'd go."

Lydia perked up at the opportunity to get him to stay.

"Maybe they do have a cure," she said. "The Greybeards are powerful men. They've studied the Voice for a long time, I'm sure that they'd be able to cure you, but you'll never know if you don't even try."

He seemed to think for a moment, but then shook his head dismissively, saying, "It's too much risk, I'm not going up another freezing mountain just to check if a few old men have a cure for me," he said. Lydia slumped back into her chair in disappointment; if hope for a cure wasn't enough to stop him, then what would?

Then, she suddenly got an idea: "You know," she said, "I doubt you'd be able to leave Skyrim anyways, even if you tried." He looked at her strangely for a moment.

"What are you going on about?" he asked her.

"Well, you should probably know that Skyrim's border guards are all lined up against Cyrodiil, and they're very well informed of you being Dragonborn. They wouldn't let the Dragonborn abandon Skyrim in its time of need, and then there'd be no way past them."

"I don't remember seeing any patrol when I came here," he said, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Well," she said, hastily thinking up some excuse, "you must have been in a war zone at the moment. They'll be back when the fighting in the area is over," she said.

She hoped that he'd fall for her bluff; Skyrim didn't really have border patrol, but it had been the best idea that her mind had been able to conjure up at the time.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, "they're not letting you out without a fight."

The last remark seemed to take its toll on him. He sat back in his chair, mulling over his thoughts. She did so too, hoping that he'd finally make the right choice. His eyes looked distant as he thought, probably imagining the different methods that he could try to get back into Cyrodiil without alerting the nonexistent border patrol. Their food had already come, but he didn't even acknowledge its presence, leaving Lydia to eat her food alone, watching him in anticipation.

Eventually, he finally seemed to understand that he wouldn't be able to get back to Cyrodiil, and he growled.

"Damn it all," he said, "I can't believe this is happening to me."

"Well then, since you don't seem to have many options, why not just go up the mountain?" Lydia asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her gauntleted hand. "Or is the cowardly Argonian scared to go up a simple mountain?"

He bristled, and glared at her, before speaking: "Woman, I've already told you, I'm not going to some town and go climb up some 8 million steps-"

"7 thousand, _my Thane."_

_"I don't care!_" Archer said, baring his teeth, seemingly getting increasingly angry with each reminder of his duties as a Dragonborn.

"My Thane, you are acting like a child!" she said, exasperated. "Why won't you just accept your destiny and do what you must?"

"Because my destiny does not lie in Skyrim," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How would you know that, hm?" she asked him.

"I don't, but I'm not going to let my life be dictated by people who don't even know me, and who'd probably rather kill me than hail me as a hero."

"Maybe if you weren't so bitter all the time, some people might _like you!_"

"I don't care if people don't like me, least of all _you_."

This time, it was her turn to bristle in her seat, before scowling at him angrily.

"That's fine! I don't even care what a damn _lizard_ thinks abo-"

Lydia's eyes widened, and she immediately clapped her hands over her mouth, preventing the flow of words from coming out of her mouth, but what she had just said had already been heard. Archer froze on the spot. His face slowly morphed into a hateful scowl, more so than before. He dipped his head slightly, glaring at her, his yellow eyes boring into her own with a great intensity, and he hissed, low and dangerous, like some sort of feral beast. She saw his clawed hands suddenly squeezing the table edge it was on, threatening to splinter the wood. He seemed to have a seething rage burning inside of him, directed towards her with as much intensity as it seemed he could muster, as if he had the power to incinerate her on the spot. She could have mistaken his for a dragon with a glare like that. It startled her how threatening he looked, and she raised her eyebrows, but she stood her ground.

Right there, Archer stood up, and began to walk away with a renewed vigor in his step, completely forgetting his lunch in his hurry. She followed after him, confused, wondering how her words had had such an effect on him. She knew he didn't like her, but she had made snide remarks toward him before, and he seemed to have shrugged them off easily enough. Why did he suddenly choose now to begin to get affected by them? She had to almost trot to keep up with the hurried pace of the angry Argonian.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he made his way outside of Whiterun.

"To get away from _you_, so stop following me!" he told her. She looked at the signs on the side of the road that he was headed towards. He was walking towards the direction where Riverwood and Falkreath hold were.

"My Thane-"

"Get away from me," he growled, but she refused to relent.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked him.

"I'm leaving this damned province, once and for all," he said.

Lydia's eyes widened, and she sped up to walk alongside him.

"What?" she said, disbelief in her voice. "B-but you can't! What about the border guard?"

"The border guard can go fuck themselves," Archer growled, "I'll plow my way through them if I have to."

"You cannot just abandon Skyrim!" she exclaimed.

"I definitely can and will, and you're not stopping me," he replied.

"Why are you so suddenly affected by what I said? You didn't care only this morning!"

"Because you've proved to me right," he said, not slowing down whatsoever, if anything speeding up.

"Proved you right? On what?" she inquired.

"That even a Nord's honor would rather be stained than to allow an Argonian to be the hero of their legend," he said.

She didn't want to admit it, but she knew he was right. She just openly insulted her Thane, going directly against what they had told her not to do, and she didn't care. Now that she thought of it, she knew a good amount of people who would kill this Argonian if they found out he was dragonborn, just because they'd feel humiliation at the fact that their savior, their prophesied hero of legend, was an Argonian, and that such a blessing had been wasted on one of the beast folk of Tamriel.

They were entering Riverwood now, the fuming Argonian crossing right through the small town, Lydia sauntering determinedly behind him.

"My Thane, I'm sorry that what I said affected you in such a way," she eventually said. "But you need to give these people a chance! You can't just abandon them in their time of need!" She knew that she didn't sound very convincing, but it was the closest thing to a sincere apology that she could think up of.

"What they need is a hero, not someone like me," he replied.

"You've got the power of the Voice, whether you like it or not, and I doubt that anyone else can be as potentially good a hero as you could be."

"But that's just it! I don't want to be seen as a hero, I just want my life back!"

"Why on Nirn would you so strongly refuse such a great gift as being of Dragon blood?" she asked, frustrated.

"I have my reasons, and I don't care for sharing them with you," he said, pointedly walking even faster, almost at a slow jog.

"My Thane, don't you think your actions are a little _extreme_?" she asked desperately, in a last-ditch attempt to get him to turn around.

They had exited Riverwood a while ago, and were still heading South, near the border of Skyrim. The pace at which Archer was walking took him across the roads at an astonishing speed. It'd only be a matter of time before he made it across the southern Skyrim border into Cyrodiil. Lydia didn't know if her housecarl duties would stay with her if he left the province, but she didn't want to take the risk. If he left Skyrim, then her homeland's hope for salvation would be lost. She was desperately trying to get him to turn back, but her efforts were all in vain; it was like talking to a moving brick wall.

"No, I think that I've justified my right to leave this damned place," he said. "I hate the cold, I hate the people here…" He suddenly stopped, and looked around, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. He growled, and fished around his bag for something.

"Where is that _damn_ map?" he angrily asked himself. He began to search his bag thoroughly for his map, but he didn't find it. She was surprised to not find him flipping the bag inside-out to see if it was inside.

"My Thane," she said, "you're lost."

"I just need to look at a road sign," he said, looking around.

He walked up the road a bit more, and sure enough, there was a road sign just up ahead. He stomped off towards it, and she followed. She smelled the faint burning scent of a nearby hunting campfire, and immediately began thinking of Skyrim's fate as a burned wasteland, instead of wondering why a hunter would be setting up a camp for the night when it was still afternoon.

Archer walked right up to the road sign, and looked at the different arrows pointing different ways. He identified the road sign arrow that pointed towards Cyrodiil's border, and his head turned towards the road. _This is is,_ she thought, _he's found the border to Cyrodiil._

Suddenly, he stopped, and looked back to the road signs, leaning in closer to one particular arrow. She then heard him gasp silently. She saw one of his hands go up, to touch the road sign gingerly, as if verifying its existence. Upon making contact, his arm suddenly got shaky, and he stared at the road sign intently. From where she was, she swore that she could see his face become slightly paler, visible even beneath his green scales. She walked up to the sign to see what it was that was bothering Archer.

"What? What is it?" she asked. His response was to have his hand point at the road sign. She looked at it, and her eyebrows shot up in realization when she saw what the road sign had written on it.

Helgen.

Archer suddenly turned his head in the direction of where the arrows pointed, and dashed down the road towards Helgen. Lydia was quick to follow, but the Argonian in light armor was much faster than her, being clad in heavy steel armor. She heard that Helgen had gotten hit by a dragon. She had no idea what to expect, but she had a bad feeling that she wouldn't enjoy it. They ran around a bend in the road, and Archer slowed to a stop. Lydia stopped behind him, looked ahead, and gasped at what she saw in front of her.

The town was completely decimated beyond words. Charred, back pieces of wood and rubble littered the floor like furniture in a house, haphazardly thrown about the ground. Smoke lazily drifted upwards into the sky from the burning heap that was once a town. She looked back at Archer. He was staring at the town, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Slowly, he began to step into the once-peaceful town. She solemnly followed him. Inside the town, it was much worse than what she had seen from the outside; only the skeletons of the houses that had been lucky to not have been directly hit by the fire remained standing, and even that looked like it would collapse with the simplest of breezes; giant piles of rubble, made up of wood and large chunks of stone, acted like barricades, completely dividing the town in two; the mighty stone tower that stood several yards away, now full of broken holes, looked like only a husk of its former self, just like the rest of the town. The Imperial flag weakly waved in the wind, tattered and burned by dragon fire as well.

Upon further inspection, she was horrified to see the dead bodies of the town's residents. Guards, citizens, men, women, and children alike, none were spared from the dragon's wrath. All sorts of bodies were strewn across the floor, blackened, charred, burned beyond any hope of recognition. Some of the bodies were posed in the position that they had taken before they were killed; thin, black arms shielded the body it came from in a vain attempt to protect itself; a charred hand grasped the hilt of a sword whose blade was partially melted; one body was in front of another, cowering figure, as if trying to protect the other in their final hour. She was simply speechless before the scene that she stood in. She had seen this quiet little town before all this had happened to it. To see it now, suddenly reduced to a smoking funeral pyre for countless citizens…it was a terrible thought.

She looked over to Archer, and saw him with his eyes shut tight, his hands clenched once more into fists, little drops of scarlet blood dripping to the ground from the claws digging into his palms. He was breathing heavily, and his fists were shaking idly. She found his behavior to be strange, but then she remembered what Archer had told her. He must have been recalling the painful memories from Helgen. She was horrified at seeing all this destruction, but Archer… Archer had _lived_ it. Lived through it, not to mention. While she may not have seen any clear sign of him showing feelings, she was seriously wondering if what people had told her about Argonians not having feelings was true. At a display like this, she doubted it.

For the first time since she laid eyes on him, she felt sorry for him.

Their moment of silent observation was cut short as they heard and saw bandits running at them. It seemed like it hadn't taken long for bandits to find the razed town as a valuable looting opportunity, and they had already taken up residence in the vacant town. Lydia pulled out her sword, but Archer had already pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow by that time. His face had contorted into a disgusted and angry facial expression as he took aim, angry at the bandits for desecrating this place. His first arrow caught one bandit in the chest, sending him to the floor, bleeding. Lydia began to run towards the other bandit, clad in an entire suit of steel plate armor, including the helmet, but then she heard the twang of Archer's bowstring, and the crunch of an arrow making impact with flesh. The armor-clad bandit fell backwards, dead, an arrow through his eye hole. She looked in wonder back at the Argonian, who had just hit a small, fast-moving target from a distance. He had already refocused his attention elsewhere.

He ran towards a destroyed house, and Lydia followed him, given that he seemed to know where he was going. She saw him run through the house, and come out the other side, to where the rest of the bandits were. There, he loaded an arrow, aimed, and fired again, killing another bandit with a pinpoint-accurate arrow. She followed suit, running into the destroyed house, and making her way over all the upturned, destroyed furniture, making her way outside. When she finally stepped out of the destroyed house, she ran towards the nearest bandit, slashing at him. Her sword found the bandit's neck, and stuck there. She pulled it out viciously so that he could bleed out and die. Two more bandits assaulted her at the same time. She parried one's blow and blocked the other, before bashing one of them with her shield. The bandit stepped back, but was quickly covered up by his companion, who attacked again. She blocked his blow, and she also bashed him, quickly following up with a sword thrust, which struck the bandit's midsection. The other bandit was already swinging his sword at Lydia, whose weapon was still inside her first opponent. However, an arrow suddenly went through his head, and he fell sideways, dead.

Lydia looked to see Archer standing with a bow in hand, aimed at the spot where her would-be murderer used to be. He looked around quickly, angrily scanning the surrounding area to see if he saw any more of the bandits. By the look on his face, she could see that he was visibly angry, not at her, however, but at the bandits. No more bandits came forth to challenge them, and the area was left in silence. Only the sound of small flames that would soon die out burning could just barely be heard. She looked at him as his claws began to clutch his bow tighter, trying to suppress his inner feelings. She could only imagine the myriad of emotions that he was experiencing at the same time; anger at the bandits, fear of the dragon, horrified of the aftermath, having possibly even traumatized from all the death and destruction in his first experience in Helgen… it must have been terrible. She certainly did not envy his position.

Suddenly, he relieved some tension in his hands on the bow, and he put it over his back again. Then, his hand went to the hilt of his sword. He pulled it out, the metallic scraping of the sword as it was being pulled out of its scabbard audible in the near-deathly silence of the graveyard town. He then got onto his right knee, while using his left foot to balance himself, and planted the sword's blade tip onto the ground, two hands resting on the hilt. He dipped his head forwards, and rested his forehead on the two hands holding his sword's hilt. Lydia's eyebrows rose; she knew what he was doing. It was a warrior's salute, a salute commonly done in honor of those fallen in the field of battle, to honor the dead. She was surprised to see him, an Argonian, doing it, and actually felt the closest thing to admiration for him for the first time as well. She usually only saw honorable fighters do such a thing after a fight against a worthy opponent. She saw his lips moving, forming words that she could not hear from where she stood. Was he praying to the dead?

She kept her silence as she observed her Thane honoring those who had died in Helgen. The scene here reminded her of the description she had read of the rape of Kvatch, the city in Cyrodiil that had first gotten hit by Mehrunes Dagon's forces from Oblivion during the Crisis and, arguably, was the one that had gotten hit hardest of them all. Now she knew how the survivors of Kvatch must have felt, with so much having been lost, the pride of a once-peaceful town crushed by the powerful steel maw of an unearthly force. The rape of Kvatch was bad, but it had at least more than just a few survivors. Helgen, on the other hand, never stood a chance, and these people had been slaughtered like cattle, without mercy, without remorse, and less than a handful of people made up this town's survivors.

Archer finally began to stand up, and he slowly slid his sword back into its scabbard. He took one last look around at the city, before turning towards her. He began to walk towards her, but the manner in which he did so was non-threatening, and not hateful, as it had been every other time. She stood in place until the Argonian was right in front of her. He looked at her again, but instead of seeing hate in his reflective eyes, she saw a sense of tiredness, like an war veteran who had seen enough fighting in his years. Archer sighed, and lowered his head.

"Do you see all of this?" she asked, taking the opportunity to speak. "Do you see what that dragon did to this town?"

He didn't respond, and instead chose to look at the floor.

"My Thane," she said, her voice addressing him in a more solemn, respecting manner for once, "If you leave, then this may be how all of Skyrim would look like, and then the rest of Tamriel. You might be the only one who can stop this, my Thane. If you want to avenge Helgen, then go to High Hrothgar; the Greybeards are masters of the Voice, they can teach you how to use your power to fight the dragons."

Archer looked up at her again, and sighed.

"Alright, you win," he said, his voice low. "I'll stay in Skyrim. I'll going to High Hrothgar.

**A/N: Okay guys, if you liked the story, have some constructive criticism, or want to ask a question about the story, then leave a review! All reviews are read and appreciated!**


	7. A Little Heart to Heart

**A/N: Guys, I'm sorry if you feel that this took to long to be updated, but I've been very busy as of late with classes, tests, the usual. That's why this chapter is longer, probably my longest chapter ever, at 14,155 words without the Author's Notes! I actually like it better when I take a bit longer to update, because it gives me time to look over the story and make any changes so that it sounds better. I got some more reviews last chapter, which is good, but more is always better, so remember to review!**

With morning came a new sense of purpose for Archer. As he donned his new leather armor, still stiff from only a day's use, his expression was set with a steely determination. Given that he still didn't know all the latches and buckles, it still took him a little bit to put the entire suit of leather armor on. He didn't care that he was giving in to the demands of these Nords. After seeing the aftermath of Helgen, and having been ravaged by nightmares of the event, depriving him of needed sleep, he wasn't going to stop until he personally saw to the end of the dragons. He was always the determined kind of person, the one who would never stop until they got what they wanted, or die trying. He'd brave the snows and cold of the Throat of the World, despite the vicious winds and cold being fatal to his kind, being cold-blooded; he had the frost suppression ring that the Jarl had given him anyways.

He donned the last piece of leather armor, and rummaged through his supplies. He had a good supply of healing and magical potions, as well as some others that he had found in chests or had bought. His "borrowed" Imperial sword hung at his left hip, while his enchanted war axe hung by a loop on his belt on his right. His Hunting Bow was slung across his back, a full quiver of iron-tipped arrows alongside it. He still had no helmet, as the weapon smith only had helmets made for human heads, but he'd make do with what he had. He was ready, he was sure of himself. However, there was still one thing that concerned him about his upcoming trip: his housecarl.

She didn't like him, it was obvious enough to anyone who could hear or see. It was obvious that she had some sort of deep-rooted belief of her kind that her parents had taught her which made her dislike him, if not just because he looked different. He knew that she was under oath to protect and serve him, but she had already proven in the past that she'd still insult him openly, even with her honor on the line. As much as he'd rather have her leave him alone, such a prospect seemed impossible, given her sheer determination to serve. He knew that if he was going to be working with her, then he needed to call some sort of truce with her. It would be the best that they could do at the time, given the circumstances, but a word of promise can be made just as easily as it can be broken. If her deep-rooted hatred for his kind could be tuned down just for the while, then it'd make things much, much easier for them both.

He didn't blame her for disliking his kind, he admitted. It wasn't her fault that she was taught by her parents what any other non-Argonian would be told about his kind. Black Marsh was probably the most disconnected province in all of Tamriel, due to the allegedly-inhospitable marshes and swamps that made up his kind's home province. While he never remembered much how his homeland was like, he knew that the Empire had tried dozens of times to conquer Black Marsh in the past, only to be driven back by the brutality of its residents, both Argonian and animal. Given this, Black Marsh was basically isolated from the rest of the world, and anything that the researchers thought they knew about his kind was mostly stereotypical nonsense. _Let them think what they want,_ Archer thought to himself, _I know what I am._

Finally pleased with his stock of equipment, he stepped out of his room in the Bannered Mare. He walked downstairs, and saw Lydia sitting at a table, almost finished eating. He walked over to her table, and sat down on a chair. She lifted her face to look at him questioningly, then went back to her food. The kind Redguard waitress took Archer's order, and promptly left them.

"Why are you sitting next to me?" she asked warily, her face seemingly emotionless, but her voice revealing the slightest tinge of disgust.

Archer turned his upper torso towards her, and said, "Look, I like this situation just as much as you do, but we need to face the facts: we're stuck together, and if we're going to be stuck working together, I don't want to be fighting with you every step of the way."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, and asked, "What're you saying?" Archer sighed.

"What I'm saying is… try to not start fights while we're traveling," Archer said. "It's only going to delay us, and make things harder. I just want to get this done, and I want to know if you're ready to do the same."

Lydia looked at him hard, but then she turned back to her food, silently saying, "No promises."

"Just try to keep your loathing to yourself, as difficult as it may sound," Archer said, before turning his attention to the food that had just been placed in front of him. If Lydia had heard him, she didn't show any signs of recognition.

They ate their food in silence, none of them feeling conversational at the moment. Their agreement could easily be broken by either side, but he was determined to keep his side of the bargain. Archer had ordered a large breakfast - bread, cheeses, and meats made a small pile on his plate - to prepare for the upcoming trip they'd be taking. He knew that he'd be needing the energy later. When the two of them finished, with Archer taking a bit longer to finish eating his large meal, they paid for their food, and exited the tavern. After making a quick stop at the general goods store to buy some potions, they were finally ready to leave to Ivarstead.

The two of them walked through the city gates, and went outside. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, the sunlight warming Archer's scales as he scanned the skyline. No clouds, which meant that weather should be good for traveling today. It was still relatively early in the morning; they'd have plenty of time to make as much progress as they could today. He turned to his pack and fished out his newly-acquired map of Skyrim - the only other map he had was the one for Cyrodiil - and looked around for the town that he'd be traveling to. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make out where they'd be heading, but was having difficulty finding the elusive town marker for Ivarstead.

"Lydia, come here," Archer said. Lydia obediently walked over to his side, and Archer showed her the map, saying, "Do you know where the town is?"

She looked around, and pointed to one spot on the map, near Skyrim's southern border, and on the other side of the mountains. Archer looked at it, and said, "On the other side of the mountains? It'll take about two or three days to get there."

"Then we'd better get moving," Lydia said.

Archer was pleased that she hadn't made the snide remark that she'd normally give him; if nothing, that meant at least some sort of progress. Heeding Lydia's advice, he began to walk down the road, still looking at the map. Now came the task of finding out how to get there. He took a close look at his map, and frowned after a few moments. The minor roads on this map weren't defined at all, and the main roads didn't have names, like the ones back in Cyrodiil. This was going to be harder than he thought. He came to a stop in front of a road sign, and looked at the arrows. One of them pointed to one direction, with the word "Ivarstead" printed on it in a faded white paint. At least these Nords used road signs. He began to head down that road, putting his map away; he supposed that it wouldn't be of much use to him at the moment.

They walked down the cobblestone road until they encountered a split. Another road sign was conveniently placed there, with another arrow pointing to a road that went over a small hill, out to the wilderness of Skyrim. Archer began to walk down it as well. Turning his head, he could see Whiterun's diminishing form, until the hill got in the way, and he couldn't even see Dragonsreach from where he stood. Whiterun would be the last city they'd be seeing for a while, he knew. They were officially on their own now.

The road ascended a large hill, and they walked up it, giving them a great view of the surrounding landscape below. Archer turned his head to admire the view while still walking down the road. The grand view their elevation gave them meant that Archer could see all the way to the horizon, as well as everything in-between. The plains stretched out into said horizon, the pristine landscape almost untouched by men, evident from the lack of buildings in that direction, and lack of a proper road, even a simple dirt one. He could see the forest's edge at the end of the plains, thick with pine trees, their densely-grown leaves concealing whatever secrets lay within. As much as he disliked his current situation, he still couldn't deny that having to travel through the province still had its perks; the landscape in Skyrim was incredibly new and beautiful to him. The luxury of sightseeing was one that he could indulge in best while traveling. For a moment, he felt like he could simply forget about everything, and just enjoy the scenery.

That moment quickly vanished when he heard Lydia call out to him: "My Thane, you're walking off the road."

He was snapped out of his trance, and noticed that he had, in fact, been gradually walking off the road while he had been distracted, and righted himself quickly.

"Maybe you should pay a little more attention to the road, _My Thane_," Lydia scolded. "Distraction has been the downfall of many young guards that I knew, and you won't end out any differently than they did."

"Can't you just give me my moment of peace?" Archer asked her. "You people have already taken my freedom with this trip, what more could you possibly take?"

"Would you rather me let you walk off a cliff, then? I'd have no trouble with that," came her reply. He decided to just keep walking, biting his tongue back against a retort; it would't be any help if he started an argument with her.

A few minutes later, he decided to do something minutely useful with his time, and decided to practice his Destruction magic. He relaxed his palm, muttered a few magical phrases, and flexed his fingers. Thin, blue veins of magically-conjured electricity coursed through his left hand, traveling up his fingertips, and swirling around his palm. He built up a small electrical charge, and then released a bit of the magic, a small shower of sparks flying upwards, out of his hand. He waited a bit for his magic to regenerate, then cast the spell again, practicing his lightning spells.

"My Thane, what are you doing?" Lydia asked after finally taking note of him practicing with his magic.

"It's called _practice,_" he said, casting another lightning spell, this time causing a larger stream of lightning into the air. "I need to get better with magic so I have something to rely on."

"Can't you do that some other time?" she asked. "You're going to attract the attention of every bandit in the area, and you'll be wasting your magicka supplies."

He gave her a hard look over his shoulder, but grudgingly dispelled the magic, his hand ceasing to course with electricity.

"I can't do anything with you around, can I?" he muttered to himself.

"I'm just doing my job, my Thane," Lydia said, having overheard him. "I don't want you using up all your magic, we might need it later."

"Too much magic can be dangerous," they heard a voice say. They stopped in their tracks, and looked around for the owner of the voice, finding it in a nearby Khajiit wearing yellow robes.

"...Excuse me?" Archer asked him.

"It is true," said the Khajiit, "M'aiq once had two spells and burned his sweet roll."

Archer looked at him for a moment, then said, "Okay…"

"Sir, I thank you for your help," she said, "but I don't need any assistance in making a point."

The Khajiit's eyes ran over the two of them, briefly inspecting the pair before him, before saying, "You are traveling together? M'aiq prefers to adventure alone. Others just get in the way. And they talk, talk, talk."

"You don't know how right you are," Archer grumbled bitterly.

"Come on, we need get going," Lydia said, pressuring Archer to keep walking. He turned to leave the odd Khajiit, focusing on the road ahead once more.

"M'aiq is tired now. Go bother somebody else," said M'aiq, turning to walk away.

Archer took one last look over his shoulder at the strange cat, but continued walking onwards. _Probably some skooma addict,_ Archer thought to himself.

In hopes that Lydia would keep quiet, Archer simply continued to walk, not saying or doing anything apart from focusing on the road ahead, and it seemed to be working. As he walked, he listened to the sounds of nature around him. He normally did it out of habit, but now, he was doing it because he had nothing else to do. With nothing to keep him distracted, he was ultimately paying the price of silence and inactivity with boredom. He didn't like being bored, that's why he was always moving around, going places. Now, all he had to do from keeping himself entertained was to listen to the sounds of nature around him. However, it seemed that even the forest seemed to silence itself; the only sounds his well-trained ears could pick up were the faint wing flaps of birds in the distance, or the distant call of a deer, but not much else.

Finally, Archer spoke: "So what did you do before you were a housecarl?" he asked Lydia, breaking the silence that had enveloped the two during their walk. She looked at him questioningly from behind.

"Why the sudden interest in _my_ history?" Lydia asked. He supposed that she had a right to ask; he hadn't shown any interest in her before, what would prompt him to want to actually speak with her?

Archer shrugged, and said, "The only time I like silence is when I'm hunting, not when I'm traveling. Talking with you can't be worse than the boredom of doing nothing, I guess."

Lydia, after a few moments, finally answered: "I used to be a guard in Whiterun. I've been one for a while now. I had even managed to be part of the Jarl's royal guard."

"It's not common to find a female guard these days," Archer said, "Much less to find one under the direct service of a Jarl.

"That's because there aren't many women who can take the punishment of guard training, unlike me," she said, a tinge of pride creeping into her voice. Since it seemed only fair, she asked him about what _he_ did before coming to Skyrim.

"I used to live with my parents," came his reply, "but it was time I left the household, to start off my own life, so I left my parents' home in Cyrodiil. I was going to be an adventurer, and I was doing fairly well my first week off. I explored lots of dungeons and caves back then, and hunted my own food when I needed to. I was having a good time on my own."

"How did you even end up here, then?" she asked him, her curiosity piqued.

Luckily for her, Archer decided to let her indulge in her curiosity: "I accidentally crossed the Jerall Mountains, and ended up crossing the border into Skyrim."

"Really? You managed to walk through an entire mountain range and not think you were going the wrong way? Are you that hopeless with directions?" she asked, the mirth in her voice unmistakable.

"There was a road that I'd never been on before," Archer defended, "and naturally, I wanted to see where it went. Unfortunately, that led to my capture by the Imperial Legion."

Her eyes widened, and her eyebrows raised. It was then that Archer realized that he may have said too much.

"You were captured by the Legion?" she asked. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Archer said, "All I did was wander into a battlefield, and the Imperial soldiers saw me, and took me as a prisoner, thinking I was one of those _Stormcloaks, _as unlikely as it sounds."

"How did you escape?" she asked, becoming interested by the minute in her Thane's story. Archer's head lowered, and he didn't answer for a while.

"They were taking us prisoners to Helgen to be executed," he said, "It was there that the dragon attacked, just as the Headsman had his axe ready to chop my head off."

Lydia was stunned; she knew that he had been in Helgen when it had gotten attacked by the dragon, but she had no idea that he had been captured, and was ready to be executed. Certainly, this Argonian has had a streak of bad luck in the recent past. Maybe that was what accounted for his bitterness. Silence enveloped them once more, this one more uncomfortable than the last. They walked around a bend in the road, and immediately, Archer spotted something of interest.

"What's that over there?" Archer asked, pointing to a pair of towers in the distance that were connected by a bridge built over some rapids.

"Those are the Valtheim towers, I think," Lydia said.

"There are probably bandits inside," he said, pulling his bow off his back. Lydia looked back to the tower, squinting, her eyes straining to see any signs of bandit activity in the tower. "I doubt they'll let us through without a fight. We'll need to do some…housecleaning, in a sense" he said, his lips curling into a malicious smile. This would be child's play to him.

He began to creep forwards, his sun-tanned brown armor perfectly blending in with the surrounding area, being of a similar hue. His feet made almost no sound as they made contact with the floor, carrying him closer and closer to the tower. He winced as he heard Lydia's armor clanking behind him, about as loud as someone banging on a cast iron pot repeatedly with a stick.

"Here's an idea," Archer said, looking over his shoulder at his companion, "Why don't you _not_ sound like an entire approaching army, so that I can take them out with as little hassle as possible, hm?"

She glared at him, but Archer returned his attention to creeping closer to the tower, unnoticed. A bandit was right outside the tower, a few feet away from the entrance, cooking something in an outdoor cooking pot. She was out in the open, with nothing to throw off his aim, but Archer was much too far away to take a shot. It wasn't so much his own skill with a bow as it was his actually bow's quality; the Hunting Bow he had featured a short draw length, not made for longer range targets. If he wanted to accurately hit a target with this bow, he'd have to get closer than normal. On the other hand, however, the short build of the bow would mean that it would store enough energy so that he could punch a hole straight through a 700 pound bull Elk at an appropriate distance. Against a human target, it wouldn't even stand a chance.

He finally snuck close enough to the bandit for him to make an accurate shot, and loaded an arrow. It hadn't noticed Lydia's noisy armor, luckily for them. It was also a good thing that bandits had a common tendency to only wear furs as coverings; they wouldn't put any resistance up against his arrows. He drew the bowstring back, took careful aim, and fired. The arrow hit the bandit in the head, just as she was raising a piece of beef to her mouth to eat. She didn't utter a single sound as she died, and the other bandits were oblivious to their comrade's death. He snuck his way inside, carefully making sure not to make any noise.

Lydia followed behind, her armor still clanking despite her best efforts to keep quiet. The sound almost seemed to have been intensified in the relative silence in the fort; hopefully, they would mistake the sound of her armor for the sound of the armor of one of their own. Unfortunately, such was not the case, and the bandit that was keeping watch at the top of the tower turned his head to look at them, before shouting out an alarm. An arrow found its way to the bandit's chest, and the bandit, knocked backwards by the force of the impact, fell off the tower. A faint splashing sound signaled his impact with the river below. However, the alarm had already been called; they heard the sounds of several other bandits charging towards them, uttering battle cries.

Lydia pulled out her sword, and rushed into the fray, as usual, with Archer staying back with his bow. She ran towards the first bandit, and locked blades with him. Pushing him back, she swung, only for the blow to be blocked by his sword. She kept swinging her sword, but it was no use; this bandit must have had good experience with sword fighting in the past. She took a quick glance at the roaring water below, and refocused her attention to her foe, taking care not to step over the ledge on the narrow stone bridge. One swing too hard, and she might overbalance, sending her to her doom. What was her Thane doing? Certainly, she could use his help at the moment. She thrust with her sword, and the bandit parried it with his own blade, forcing it to one side, leaving her vulnerable to attack.

Finally seeing a window of opportunity, Archer took aim at the bandit. The bandit's eyes locked with his for a moment, and then widened, before Archer fired his arrow. The bandit ducked, just in time to feel the arrow streak the air above his projectile hit another bandit that was behind him in the head instead, killing him. The first bandit stood up with a triumphant expression, one which quickly turned to shock and pain as Lydia's sword entered his stomach, having taken advantage of his moment of vulnerability. The bandit fell backwards, dead, and another one jumped over his corpse, swinging his mace overhead. Lydia blocked the mace with her shield, feeling a jolt in her arm as the mace's heavy flanged head made impact with her shield.

She was now put on the defensive, her opponent forcing her behind her shield for safety. It may have been made of steel, but her shield would break if enough damage had been absorbed. The bandit raised his mace in an overhead strike, attempting to cave in her skull, but she managed to avoid it by sidestepping. At that moment, an accurately-cast lightning bolt struck the bandit, sending him off his feet, barely missing Lydia. She literally felt the searing heat of the lightning as it streaked through the air in front of her. The bandit was left writhing in pain on the floor, and Lydia ended his life quickly with a quick thrust to the heart. When the bandit's convulsing body lay still, she whirled around to look at Archer angrily.

"What in Oblivion was _that_ for?" she asked. "I almost got how by the damn thing!"

"Oh, come on, I wasn't going to hit you," Archer said dismissively.

"How would I know that?" Lydia asked, "You might have taken the opportunity to get rid of your _troublesome housecarl, _for all I knew!" she exclaimed.

He put away his bow, and looked at her, the shock on his face unmistakable, clearly visible through his reptilian features.

"Why would you think that?" he asked, his voice reflecting his expression.

Hearing his tone of voice, Lydia softened by a fraction, realizing just how radical her accusation sounded.

"I wouldn't resort to murdering you just to get you out of my way…" he said, trailing off as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Archer!" he shouted, whipping out his bow. Lydia, out of instinct, ducked at the warning, turning her head to see where the archer was. An arrow sliced the air where Archer used to be, the bandit obviously recognizing him as a priority target. She squinted her eyes to see another bandit, this one wielding a long bow, who was taking shots at them from across the river. Archer took careful aim while Lydia put her shield up to block any other incoming arrows. Archer fired off an arrow at the bandit, and hit him in the chest, causing him to fall backwards with an agonized cry of pain, unable to make a clean kill from the distance. Another arrow found the bandit's neck, silencing him forevermore. Just then, one last bandit, presumably the chief, given his full suit of Iron armor, came charging at them with an Orcish Greatsword. He came too fast for Archer to be able to hit his unprotected head, and the bandit swung his massive great sword overhead. Lydia didn't bother to block the blow, as it probably would have snapped her arm bone from the force, and instead jumped back, no easy feat in steel armor. The sword smashed into the floor, breaking off tiny stony bits of bridge as it made contact, and the bandit swung again, the reach of the sword making a wide horizontal arc. Lydia jumped back again, but the sword managed to leave a gash on her steel armor; Orcish-quality weapons were some of the best, and this bandit obviously knew how to use his.

Lydia kept walking backwards, and Archer did the same, trying to get a good view on the bandit. The bandit went for another overhead cleave, and Lydia deflected the blow with her shield, the great sword hitting the floor beside her instead. Archer took the opportunity to send a volley of electric currents at the bandit in his moment of vulnerability. The bandit cried out it pain, paralyzed from the electricity, but Archer then released the spell, giving Lydia the chance to strike him across the face with her shield. The bandit stumbled to one side, dropping his sword on the bridge. Lydia's armored boot kicked out at the bandit's back, sending the man over the bridge, screaming.

They immediately looked around, making sure that this time, there weren't any other bandits. No more came out to challenge them, and after a few moments, they relaxed, the threat finally gone.

"Well, that certainly didn't go as planned," Archer said, casually looting one of the bandit corpses on the floor. He stood upright, and turned to her.

"Come on, then," he said, "We need to keep moving." Lydia nodded silently, and followed behind him. However, he stopped, and turned back, passing by Lydia. He stopped, and stooped down to pick up the bandit chief's great sword. The green-tinted sword gleamed with a dull metallic luster in the sunlight. It was heavy, as was expected, but Archer didn't dare run his hand along the edge; he'd probably sever his finger from the sharpness. He turned to Lydia.

"How good are you with great swords?" he asked her.

"Well, I've been trained with them before, but not quite as much as with a sword and shield," she said.

"Close enough," he said, handing her the large green sword. She accepted the heavy, yet undeniably high-quality weapon, admiring it for a moment before strapping it across her back. She turned to her Thane again, who was stooping down again to relieve yet another dead body of its valuables.

…

The dark tendrils of the night reached across the skies, covering the land like a dark blanket. Soon enough, they were enveloped in the night as well, only seeing the stars above. It was then that Archer decided to set up camp, before it got too dark. He picked a small clearing next to a flowing river, the cascade of water from where it flowed from visible from their site. After a few minutes, Archer had managed to start a fire for them with the aid of a basic flames spell. They ate a simple meat stew that he had prepared in silence. The peaceful night sounds comforted them, but it did nothing to ease things between the two of them. So far, things were not looking very well; they hadn't made as much progress as he'd liked, and he didn't think that they were getting any friendlier with each other.

Remembering something, Archer reached into his pack, and rummaged inside of it for a moment, before coming out with a fresh, red apple that he had bought from Whiterun. He held the fruit sideways and bit into it, taking delight in the apple's sweet, juicy flesh. Apples were his favorite fruit, after all. While he was chewing, he caught sight of Lydia staring at him oddly.

"What, never seen an apple before?" he asked, taking another bite.

She looked at him, and quickly sat more upright, before saying, "I didn't know your kind could eat anything other than meat."

He snorted. "What fun would that be?" he asked.

"It's just what I know, or, at least, what I thought I knew," she admitted.

Archer looked at her, but then focused his attention on the fire. Lydia threw another stick into the fire, and sat back, noticing her Thane's behavior. He seemed to be deep in thought, distantly staring into the flames. She had seen that look before; she remembered seeing it on her father when he was thinking deeply about something. Her father's expression had been easier to read, however, so she could tell whether he was simply deep in thought, or worried about something, to which she would then ask what was the matter. Archer, on the other hand, just like any other member of the lizard race, had proven to be more difficult to read, as his facial expressions were always subtle when she saw them. While she could not tell whether he was worried or not, he was undoubtedly thinking hard about something.

Suddenly, Archer shifted his body to face her, causing her to look at him in turn. He stared at her, long and hard, as if still contemplating his earlier thoughts. It unnerved her somewhat, but she kept her facial expression devoid of emotion.

"Okay, Lydia," he finally said, "I'm going to ask you three questions. If you refuse to answer either of them, then I'll make sure you don't follow me any more through this trip, alright?"

The sudden proposition surprised her, but she thought it over in her head; what did he want to know about that he thought she could answer? Slowly, but surely, she nodded.

"First question," he said, raising his pointer finger, "What do you know about my kind?"

She thought for a moment, before answering: "I know that they show little emotion, they worship a tree, and they don't trust anyone."

He looked at her, his face devoid of any emotion, but nodded once.

"Okay then… question two," he said, adding another finger to his count, "Do you trust me at all?"

She shifted a bit in her seat, and looked away uneasily; this question was a bit more difficult than the last, but she would still answer him honestly. She took a moment before finally answering: "Honestly, I cannot say that I completely do, my Thane," she said, "I've not known you for very long, and so far, if I may say so, you haven't exactly been very…_opening_ to me."

He rested his hands on his knees, and continued to stare at her, but then he grunted, apparently satisfied with her answer. "Alright, fair enough," he said.

"Last question," he said, adding one last finger to his count. She braced herself for whatever question he might want to ask her. Whatever it was, she was going to be frank and honest with him; she had had no problem with telling him that she didn't yet trust him, no other question should be any more difficult.

"Why do you hate me?", he asked. Those four words easily proved her last thought wrong.

She looked at him, her eyebrows up in surprise at the boldness of his question.

"What kind of question is that, my Thane?" she asked.

"It's a completely legitimate question, and I want you to answer me," he said firmly. She glared at him with an intensity to match his gaze, unmoving from her spot on the ground.

"I don't… _hate_ you, My Thane," she explained.

He scowled at her, and said, "You lie to me, I know it. I can feel your hatred for me every time you see me, every time you're near me… I hadn't said a word to you, hadn't done anything to you, yet the hatred was still there, from the moment you laid eyes on me."

"Why do you want to know? Why do you care?" she asked.

"Because there is no way that such deep hatred can arise simply out of prejudice; something had to have happened to make you hate my kind…" he said his voice trailing off as he thought for a moment.

"Something in the past, maybe?" he asked.

Her eyes widened, and she suddenly felt very, very uncomfortable. She very desperately wanted to look away, her eyes suddenly not able to meet his own. She ended up focusing on a patch of grass some feet away instead, finding it preferable to looking into the Argonian's eyes.

"That's it, isn't it?" she heard him ask. "I can see how you're reacting. Something did happen, didn't it?"

She suddenly turned to him, and said, "What happens in my life is not of your concern!"

She looked away from him, trying to hide the tears that threatened to come out of her eyes, the memory that she so hated returning to her at that moment. Seeing her in such distress, Archer's facial expression softened a bit; he had no idea what she was remembering, but it obviously wasn't very pleasant at all. Whatever it may have been, it was painful enough for her so that her disciplinary training had done nothing to stop her from showing weakness in front of him. Maybe she felt the same way with her painful memory as he did about his memories of Helgen. It was then than Archer actually felt sorry for her; he knew how much he hated remembering about Helgen, so he could relate to what she was possibly feeling at that moment.

"Lydia," he said softly, "I'm sorry if-"

"Don't, my Thane," she said, "I don't need your words of comfort. I just… need some time alone."

He looked at her face, still turned away from him, but got up regardless, and headed out to his bedroll placed a few feet away, deciding that his housecarl should probably have some time to herself. He took his armor off and put on some sleeping clothes. He laid down on his bedroll, but didn't go to sleep, not yet. He couldn't help but wonder what it was that she was remembering that made her so distressed. Surely, it couldn't be any better than Helgen if it happened so long ago, and yet the lone memory is enough to affect her so much. Now that he noticed, he didn't know why he was thinking about her in the first place; was he actually worrying about her welfare? Since when did it matter to him? He'd have to dwell on that thought some other time. Sleep overcame his thoughts, and soon he was gently snoring in his bedroll.

Lydia, on the other hand, was still deeply troubled by her memory. She could still remember it now, every graphic detail, as if it was happening in front of her right now… she buried her face in her hands, trying to control herself. She may have been relatively young for her age, but she wasn't going to cry like an emotional, weak-willed woman; she was a guard, and had been trained to be able to suppress her emotions when necessary. In the end, her training did its job, and she sucked up her tears before any actually came out, but she still felt the deep sadness inside of her. She knew that it wasn't his fault she hated him, but she couldn't help it. In addition, she did not feel comfortable enough around him to tell him about the memory yet either; she barely felt comfortable thinking about it herself.

Suddenly, she heard some bushes rustling, and her head snapped up out of instinct, her hand flying to her sword's hilt. At once, all other thoughts were pushed out of the way, her senses all on alert, her rigorous guard training kicking in. She scanned the surrounding forest area, looking for the source of the sounds, but didn't find it. She kept looking, though, because she knew better than to let one's guard down so easily. Nothing else came out, however, and she began to relax her grip on her sword's hilt. _Must have been a fox, or rabbit,_ she finally decided, before settling back down. However, it most certainly was not a rabbit.

A roar split the airwaves, and a giant furry mass rushed out at her from a large clump of bushes. Lydia sprang up from her seat, and instinctively reached out for the sword at her hip. The beast, with Lydia recognizing it as a forest troll, swung a claw at her, and she jumped away from it, avoiding the attack. The beast roared, its gaping maw revealing rows of sharp teeth that it would use to tear into her if it got the chance. She didn't have her shield with her - she had set it down a while ago to rest - so she could not effectively use her steel sword in combat, leaving her at a disadvantage versus the troll's superior physical strength and natural endurance.

It ran up to her and tried to strike her with its claw, but Lydia deftly jumped out of the way. She tried to swing her own weapon at it, but the troll wisely swung its long arms at her, forcing her to stay back. This thing was keeping her at a distance with its longer arms, forcing her out of comfortable fighting quarters. She saw her Orcish great sword lying a few feet away from her, and bent down to pick it up, hoping that it would give her the reach necessary to kill the beast. In that moment that she went to pick up the weapon, however, the troll charged forwards. Before it got too close, however, Lydia brought her sword up in a horizontal swing, catching the troll at the belly. The creature roared in pain as its abdominal area was split open, but its natural endurance meant that the wound wasn't as fatal as it would have been. Archer had finally woken up at the sounds of their battle, it seemed, for he was wearing night clothes to battle. He came up behind the troll and slashed at the back of one of its legs, slicing through its hamstring. The troll's leg buckled, and Lydia ran it through with her great sword. The weapon pierced right through the troll's body with surprising ease, going completely through the troll's abdomen and coming out its back, coated in sticky blood.

Pulling out her sword, the troll's body slumped forwards, dead. She looked back up to Archer, who was looking down at the troll with an expression of amazement on his face.

"Troll," Lydia said, prodding the dead body with her foot, making sure it was dead. It didn't move.

"Yeah, I know what a troll is," Archer said, still looking at it in wonder, "I've seen them before. I've even hunted them myself, but I've never seen one _this_ big!"

She smirked, and said, "The trolls of Skyrim would use Cyrodiil's trolls like toothpicks."

"That, I could believe," Archer said, finally pulling his eyes away from the large creature's dead body. "Where did it come from?" he asked.

Lydia pointed to one direction, and Archer looked that way.

"This troll must have come from a cave over there," he said, pointing at the general direction of where the troll had come from, on the other side of the river. "We need to clear it out before we go to sleep."

"Why?" she asked. "Why not just leave them alone? You'd be walking into an entire cave of them."

"My father taught me that trolls often go out of their caves to bring food back," Archer explained. "He also told me that if one troll came from a nearby cave, then another one would be sure to follow it sometime later. We'll be getting hit by these trolls all night if we don't take them out now."

"Alright, fine," she said, obviously not enthusiastic about the idea of troll hunting at this time of night. He turned to the pile of his equipment that he had laid out next to his bedroll and started to don his armor once more, while Lydia waited. He finally put the last of his leathers on, and grabbed his bow, along with his arrows, sword, and war axe. When he was ready, they set out towards the troll's cave. The part of the river they needed to cross was shallow, so they had no problem wading through the waist-high water, except for Archer, who grumbled to himself about how uncomfortable it would be to take off the leathers after they had gotten wet.

The cave started off with a narrow passage, where only one of them could fit in at a time. Archer went in first, while Lydia followed. The inside of the cave was cool, and water dripped from the ceiling, contributing to the dampness of the cave floor. It was perfect for a community of trolls to live in. Archer creeped forwards a few steps, then stopped suddenly, putting his open hand out in a signal for her to stop. She looked over his shoulder, and saw a large troll sitting by itself in the middle of the room, surrounded by all sorts of objects, namely bedrolls and bloody body parts; the remains of a camp site.

Very carefully, Archer drew an arrow and fired, instantly killing the troll with a shot to the head from behind, a clean kill. It fell silently, and the two walked into the cavern room. Now actually inside of it, Lydia could see the remains of a campsite, where a small group of dimwitted people had apparently decided that it would have been a good idea to make their camp inside an occupied cave. The remains of a wooden overwatch that had tumbled to the floor, the pieces of wood contributing to the debris that littered the cavern floor, suggested a permanent establishment by bandits. Tables, strongboxes, gold, and other miscellaneous items were all strewn about haphazardly, mingling with the bloody remains of the cave's previous occupants.

"These trolls did a good job of clearing this cave out of bandits," Archer said, "But we need to make sure that these people are the last ones they kill." Lydia nodded with determination. She had done this sort of thing before, killing animals that were a danger to passing travelers. She just hoped that Archer had a good plan, and that she wouldn't bring attention to them with her loud armor. They crept to the next room inside the cave, with natural ledges forming ramps that sprouted out from the cave walls. On one of those ledges, a troll was chewing on a bone, while another was sitting down on the ground. Archer drew back his bow to fire.

The sudden roar they heard behind them made Archer accidentally fire, the arrow completely missing his intended target. They both looked behind them, and saw that a troll had come from behind them, previously unnoticed. The two other trolls in the room in front of them also noticed them, and charged, leaving them surrounded on both sides. Lydia unsheathed her sword, and ran at the two trolls ahead of them. Archer focused his attention on the solitary troll, hoping that his housecarl would be able to handle the two of them herself. He saw that Lydia had pulled out her great sword, and had begun to swing it in the general direction of the two trolls, forcing them to keep their distance. He turned his head and refocused his attention on his own enemy. The troll in front of him glared at him with its three, pitch-black eyes, before roaring, and charging at him. He jumped to one side, avoiding a clumsy swing. He slashed at its arm, causing it to growl in pain. It retaliated with its own claw swing, which Archer ducked to avoid. However, a second swing from the troll's other arm caught Archer on his arm, the claws cutting through his scales with ease, nearly exposing his bones.

Archer cried out in pain as his arm began to bleed profusely, dropping his sword in the process. His arm hurt, but he managed to keep himself focused on the troll. It threw its entire body at him, and Archer managed to jump out of the way. The troll, overbalancing, tripped forwards and fell down. As it was getting up, Archer grabbed his fallen sword off the floor with his left hand, and thrust the sword through its back before it could turn, ending its life. Archer muttered a few words, and his left hand began to glow with a warm yellow light. He flexed his fingers, releasing the restoration magic to heal his arm. His scales and skin grew back at a very fast pace, the magic speeding up his body's natural restoration processes, until his arm was completely healed again. Flexing his arm to make sure he was alright, he looked towards Lydia.

The two trolls had backed her into a wall, and she was fighting them off with little success. She managed to push one of the trolls back, causing it to stumble backwards. She quickly swung her sword overhead, and the weapon struck the troll in the collarbone. She attempted to pull it out, but it was to no avail; the weapon had lodged itself deeply into the troll's bone. She desperately pulled at the weapon to loose it, and she finally did, but a well-placed strike from the troll hit her in the arm and sent her weapon flying out of her hands. She clutched her arm in pain, her knees buckling. She lifted her head, and stared in horror at the troll, its arms outstretched, ready to wrestle her down using its superior strength and sink its fangs into her.

Archer hissed, and this time, he _did_ utter a battle cry, and rushed at the troll. Hearing the Argonian's battle cry, the troll turned to meet him. It lashed out with its claw, but Archer got inside its arms, and slashed at its face with his own claws, having forgotten to pick up his weapon in his rush to come to Lydia's aid. His claws raked across the troll's face, causing it to roar in pain. The troll swung its other arm sideways, to which Archer ducked to avoid, and slashed at the troll's ribs as he danced under its arm. Once again, the troll growled in pain, but Archer knew that he wasn't inflicting fatal wounds on the beast; tough skin provided for natural armor that would protect it against his claws. Where would he be able to fatally wound this thing with only his claws?

He could try aiming for its neck, he thought. It was a commonly-known vital area, where he had always been taught to strike at with his sword. It was common knowledge, of course, that the throat, with its softer flesh, would easily be the best area to aim for, but just how deep could he penetrate with his claws? The troll tried to swat at Archer with another clumsy swing, which the Argonian deftly avoided. The troll shifted its focus from Archer to Lydia, who was struggling to reach for something in her pack, then back to Archer, deciding on which one it should try to kill first. It unwisely decided to momentarily turn its back on Archer to face Lydia, giving him a chance to run up to it and leap onto its back, slashing at its throat from behind.

The troll's neck area had softer skin, but it still wasn't easy cutting through it with only his claws, as was expected. Nevertheless, he relentlessly continued to slit at the troll's throat, while the troll shrieked in pain, trying to throw him off. Blood began to spatter over his hands and claws, covering his hands in a film of the sticky red substance. The troll finally managed to throw Archer off its back, sending him flying forwards a few feet. Landing painfully, Archer was back on his feet in an instant, ready to attack again. The troll, blood dripping from its wounds, growled at Archer, refusing to turn its back on him again. Despite having slashed at its throat numerous times, Archer simply could not get the penetration needed to kill it quickly, and the troll was now between him and his sword, meaning that his options were terribly narrow at the moment.

He didn't know how he was still alive and fighting. He probably owed it to adrenaline by now, making his body more than twice as strong and his reflexes more than twice as fast. Panting heavily from growing fatigue, Archer braced himself for another attack. The troll charged once more, and in a last, desperate attempt to kill the thing, Archer ran right towards it. The two of them running at each other meant that the gap between the two closed very quickly, but Archer had anticipated this. With precise timing, he bent both legs, and jumped, putting as much force behind his jump as he could. The troll's arms tried to catch him, but he had already landed on it, right in its face. He clung on to the troll, and lashed out one last time with his claws, sinking them deep into the troll's neck.

The troll shrieked, and tried to back away, but Archer refused to relent, clinging onto the animal in a death grip, trying to dig his claws as deep inside its neck as was possible. The troll's arms started swinging and swatting at Archer, but still he clung on, making sure that the troll would not survive this, even if it mean a mutually-assured death. Blood flowed out of the wound he was making and began to splatter the area around them with the sanguine fluids. He finally lost his grip on the troll, and fell down, making sure to quickly back away when he hit the floor. However, the troll continued to roar in pain, albeit more weakly, clutching at the wound on its neck. The wound itself was still bleeding profusely, and it wasn't showing any signs of stopping sometime soon; his claws had managed to slice at one of the troll's major neck arteries. The troll continued to struggle, the blood still pouring steadily out of the wound, until its struggles finally died down. It staggered, before it collapsed onto the floor, where it lay in an increasingly-growing puddle of its own blood.

Archer panted heavily, blood trickling off his claws and hands, looking with shock and amazement at what he had just done. Exhaling a shaky breath, he let out a half-smile to himself; it wasn't every day that one managed to kill a troll with their bare hands and live, even if he was an Argonian with claws as natural weapons. Suddenly, he remembered about his companion. He spun his head around to see Lydia on the floor, vainly trying to uncork a bottle of a healing potion with one hand; evidently, she had no magical aptitude, at least in the field of restoration magic. He immediately went over to her side, and crouched down to her level. He looked into her eyes, her face contorted into a pained grimace.

"Let me look at that," Archer said, and Lydia hesitantly gave him her arm to inspect. He looked the wound over, and hissed unhappily; her arm was broken between the wrist and the elbow, and a clean fracture at that. What else should he have expected after getting hit by a troll?

"How bad is it?" she asked, her face turned away from him, not from distress like earlier, but from the pain.

"Your arm's broken," he said, "you can't drink a healing potion the way you are now."

Her eyebrows rose, but settled back down as she realized that he was right. If she drank the potion without resetting the bone, it would grow back incorrectly, leaving her arm a deformed mess for the rest of her life.

"We're not that far from Whiterun," Archer said, "If you want, we could go back to-"

"No, it's fine," she said, "Just… reset my bone. Do you know how?" she asked him. He nodded.

"It's going to hurt," Archer said honestly, "Are you sure you want _me_ to do this?"

His emphasis on the word "me" did not go unnoticed, causing Lydia to look back into his eyes. He wasn't going to do this without her consent, mostly because it would be detrimental to her own health if he did. However, a small part of him asked the question simply because… well, he wasn't quite sure yet, but he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he'd definitely rather have given her his consent before having his bone reset by her.

Finally, she nodded to him, and shut her eyes, bracing herself for the pain. He sighed as he mentally prepared himself for her anguished cries of pain; no matter how many times he had done it in the past, which weren't that many anyways, he'd never get used to hearing such pained sounds, but these things were necessary. After bracing himself for her scream, he firmly grasped the two broken parts of her arm, and moved them. Immediately, she cried out in pain, the sound echoing throughout the caverns. He winced as he felt her bones move and heard her pained cry, but did his best to block out the sensations; he had to focus on moving the bones back into place.

He managed to finally align the two segments so that they were as close to their original positions as he could confidently make them. With her arm back to the closest to normal he could set it, he quickly uncorked the healing potion's bottle, and gave it to Lydia. She drank the contents hurriedly, involuntary tears of pain streaming down her cheeks. He felt a very tight pressure on one of his arms, but didn't pay any attention to it, focused on making sure she healed properly. The healing potion's effects began to take place only moments after drinking; the skin healed where there had been a bruise, and Lydia's labored, shaky breaths smoothened, but did not quite return to normal just yet.

The last of her skin and bones knitted and merged together, and she sighed in relief, her face wet with sweat and a few tears. Her arm didn't look deformed, and while it still wasn't safe to assume that everything was okay, Archer let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding in. It was then that Archer decided to see what the pressure on his arm was. To his surprise, it was her other hand, which must have clung onto his arm unconsciously in an attempt to endure the pain. She finally relaxed enough so that she let go, pulling her other arm away from him. Her pulled back her newly-healed arm, and inspected it, twisting it in different directions to test the limb. Satisfied with the results, she settled back down onto the cave wall, tired, but definitely alive.

"Thanks…" she said softly, barely loud enough to hear despite the short distance between the two. They sat there for a while, resting briefly before they had to go again. Archer then stood up on tired legs, and outstretched his hand towards her, offering to help her stand. She waved his arm off, and managed to stand up with heavy support from the cave wall. He picked up her sword, and handed it back to her, letting her sheathe it across her back, while he went to go pick up his own sword.

"We're done here," Archer said, "Now let's head back to camp." She nodded silently, and the two turned to head back to their campsite.

Their trip had been short, but the two had walked out of the cave exhausted and battered after the fighting. The adrenaline rushing through their bodies, which had kept them going through their battles, had finally subsided, the effects being felt almost immediately afterwards. However, despite this, Lydia continued to toss and turn in her bedroll.

She may have been exhausted after the intense fighting in the troll cave, and the night may have been at a comfortable tenperature for her to sleep sound, yet she still couldn't seem to sleep. Giving up, she lied on her back, settling for staring up at the stars instead. They were always comforting to watch when she felt troubled, or simply didn't want to sleep, much like now. It helped to pass the time, and gave her time to think when she needed it.

"Can't sleep?" Archer asked her from his spot near the fire. He had insisted on taking first watch for the night, ignoring her insistence to let him sleep, claiming that while use may have healed from the wound, she still needed to be rest her arm to make sure the effects stay. "I took first watch for a reason, I don't want so see my effort go to waste," he said, half-jokingly.

She continued to look at the stars, hoping to get some sleep, as distant as the prospect seemed. Meanwhile, her eyes began to scan the skies above, looking for something in particular.

"Looking for your constellation?" Archer said, referring to one of the many constellations of which the birth signs of Tamriel were based upon. "Which sign were you born under?" he asked.

"The Warrior," she replied, her eyes still looking for the specific arrangement of blinking white dots in the sky that she could not seem to find.

"I don't think it's out tonight," Archer said, looking to the sky himself. His eyes squinted as he looked at one particular arrangement of stars. "I can see my birth sign, there," he said, pointing to a specific group of stars. Lydia craned her head to look at it.

"You were born under the sign of the Thief?" she asked, sitting upright on her bedroll.

"Yes, at least, that's what my parents told me, but they weren't sure," Archer said, looking towards her.

"But…you're not a thief," she said, looking at him questioningly.

"They also told me that even though I was born under the sign of the Thief, it didn't mean I had to be one, and as you can see, I heeded their words," Archer replied.

"You said something about your parents not being sure about your birthsign? Did they not document your birth?" she asked.

"It wasn't their fault," Archer said, turning his head towards the fire in front of him, "they weren't really my parents." Turning his head to look back at her, he saw that Lydia was cocking an eyebrow at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"I didn't grow up with my real parents," Archer said, "I was adopted."

"Adopted?" Lydia said, "By who?"

"By nobody in my own family," Archer said, "my adopted father was a Breton, and my adopted mother was a Nord, hence my name's not being a traditional Argonian one."

Upon this shocking realization, Lydia's eyebrows shot up, her surprise undisguised; she had never expected to hear about an Argonian being adopted by a pair of human parents.

"How did that happen?" she asked, incredulous.

"That's a story for another time," Archer said. "Maybe you should try to get some sleep before tomorrow morning. We've got a lot of travel ahead of us, and I don't intend on taking the entire night's watch."

Settling down after hearing his story, Lydia heeded his advice, and laid back against her bedroll, but found that she was still unable to sleep. She knew what was bothering her, but she still wasn't sure what to do about it… she was full of uncertainty right now, about a lot of different things, but mostly about her Thane's recent change in behavior. It troubled her how he was starting to open up to her, despite his clear dislike for her, which, at the moment, was starting to become less so. He had rushed at that troll with only his claws to save her, and that alone was enough to make her want to rethink what she thought of her Thane. He could have left her for dead, he could have gotten what he had wanted for some time now, to be alone, but he chose to instead keep her alive. The question was, why? Did he want to prove her wrong on what she thought of Argonians? Was he simply trying to be a good defender of his people, and not actually care about her welfare? If so, then why did he want to know about her history, more specifically, about what had happened to her long ago that made her hate Argonians? Should she even tell him? The very last question was the one that was troubling her most at the moment; that moment in her life was one she regarded as personal, meant for very few people outside herself. Gods, this was going to be a long night if she didn't do something.

"Archer," she said, sitting upright once more on her bed.

"Hmm?" he said, looking back towards her.

"I…want to talk to you…" she said, her voice a bit hesitant. "It's about… what happened all those years ago, what made me show… dislike for Argonians."

She had his attention now, and he turned to fully face her, obviously eager to know about her. She looked back up to him, and saw him looking at her, patiently waiting and listening.

"I'm…still not comfortable going over it in detail," she said, hoping he would understand.

He nodded in understanding, and said, "That's alright, I'll only hear what you're prepared to tell me."

She looked back up at him, then back down. She took a deep, slightly shaky breath, before exhaling.

"When I was still young, my father was Whiterun's Thane, the only one at the time," she began, remembering the entire scene as if it were happening before her eyes.

…

_The skies were darkening over the city of Whiterun, the horizon gradually morphing from a brilliant red to a predominantly purple sky, getting darker the farther away one looked from the sun dipping over the horizon. All the town's residents were starting to disappear into their humble abodes, the vendors slowly closing down their stalls. By the time that night had completely fallen, everyone was either inside their homes, or at the tavern. It was in one particular house, however, that one of the residents that lived within wasn't yet home at the time. _

_"Momma, where's father?" asked a young girl in the house, only about 12 years old at the time, her mother brushing her dark hair behind her. Dark green eyes looked over her shoulder, careful not to get her mother to mess up her hair._

_"Don't worry, Lydia, honey, he'll be back soon enough," said the mother, making sure that her daughter looked clean and fresh. "He's probably at the tavern now, drinking again after coming back from one of his adventures, I bet."_

_"But poppa told me that he'd be back by tonight!" Lydia complained, "And that he'd take me hunting tomorrow morning!" _

_"Don't move so much, you'll mess up my work," her mother said, brushing away at the last imperfection. "Honey, you know your father usually takes longer than he says to come back, he gets…sidetracked. Don't worry, I know what your father can do, he won't let a few bandits delay him for long."_

_"Of course he won't, daddy's a Thane, he can't get killed by a few bandits!" Lydia stated triumphantly. Her father always loved adventuring, while he wasn't working for the Legion. She had always looked to her father like a hero, like an idol. Despite the comparatively little time he spent at home, he always made the most of his return visits, always going out with Lydia to either shoot some deer, go fishing, or any one of the numerous activities that they'd embark on together, out in the wilderness._

_"Oh, I know, dear," said her mother, smiling. "Although, it _is_ getting a little late…" she said, her voice sounding of doubt and worry, as she usually did when she believed something was amiss._

_"Honey?" she said, making Lydia turn to see her, "why don't you go see if your father's at the tavern now? Make sure he's not too drunk, and if he is, then I want you to drag him back here, alright?" _

_Smiling at her mother's attempt at humor, Lydia eagerly nodded, and ran out the doors. The cool night air refreshed and exhilarated her, one aspect of her Nord blood that ran deep within her family. Her green eyes picked out the Bannered Mare, the city's local pub, and she made her way over there, passing several town guards in the process. When she got to the door of the tavern, she could hear people shouting and cheering within._

_Pushing open the door, she found herself looking at a tavern brawl. The two contenders were a Redguard man and a burly, dark-haired Nord man, her father. Patrons all around were shouting and cheering, while some others held onto the gold coins in their hands, in anticipation of a bet. At seeing her father fighting against another man, Lydia gasped in horror. It wasn't that she wasn't sure if her father could win, she just didn't want him to hurt the poor sod too badly._

_The Redguard man slurred something, burped, then charged at her father. The Nord man lashed out with his fist like a dwemer steam piston, smashing into the Redguard man's face. The Redguard stumbled back, and swung a fist at her father, but her father, being the experienced fighter he was, ducked under the clumsy strike and grabbed the man. He raised him up, and threw him over his shoulder, almost effortlessly. The Redguard man slammed into the floor painfully. He tried to get up, but quickly gave up, and slumped back down onto the floor, defeated. At such a display of physical prowess, Lydia could only help but cheer at her father's victory. _

_"Ugh, I feel like every bone in me body's broke…" she heard the Redguard man say, but she disregarded him;. Any real man worth his salt would be fine after a throw like that; her father had gone easy on him, after all. Her father was currently sitting back down, smiling after his fight._

_"That was a great fight, Vilann," said her father, regarding the drunken Redguard currently on the floor. "Remind me to have a proper spar with you when you're sober!" With that, he burst out laughing at his own joke, getting only a snore from the passed-out Redguard on the floor. A few other bar patrons pulled him to his feet, and hauled him away. Lydia walked up to the dark-haired man that was her father._

_"Wow dad, that was amazing!" Lydia exclaimed. Her father, recognizing the voice of his daughter, turned to look at her._

_"Lydia! What are you doing here?" he asked, a grin streaking across his face in an instant. His rosy cheeks were evidence of his recent drinking. He wasn't a helpless alcohol addict like some men she knew, but her father did always enjoy having himself a proper Nord drink after a long day._

_"Momma wants you to come home now," Lydia said. "And I do too! Come on! We're gonna go hunting tomorrow, right? Like you promised me?"_

_He laughed again, a deep, hearty sound, and clapped her on the back gently. "Ah, I see that my little cub's memory is just as good as ever! Just like her father!" he boasted, to which she blushed a little. _

_"Alright, let's go. Vilann, I'll see you tomorrow, hopefully not like you are now." _

_A incoherent, slurred mumble was his reply from the Redguard who was slumped on his chair. Her father chuckled, and said, "Oh, poor lad, can't take his drink like your old man. Alright, let's go," he said, getting up from his stool. Lydia turned to walk away, and her father followed._

_"Hold on, there," said a raspy, slurred voice, one that Lydia didn't really recognize._

_Lydia turned, and saw that it was a green-scaled Argonian man that was talking to the two of them. By the way the lizard's legs wobbled, Lydia could tell that he wasn't anywhere near sober. Her father's lip was curled in distaste, his dislike for the lizard people apparent. She had never seen any of his kind before, and only knew of what her father had told her about them, which wasn't that much to begin with. _

_"What do you want, lizard?" asked her father. _

_"I'd just like to let you know -hic- that this… _lizard _can… knock you out of your hide ya… ya _smoothskin_,_" _said the lizard. "I bet that I can… take you down, without trying…"_

_At that statement, everyone's heads turned to look at the two. Even the bard stopped plucking at the strings on his lute, stopping his melodious verse mid-sentence. The bar went silent, as the large Nord man stared down the Argonian. The lizard had been hanging back all afternoon, being picked on repeatedly by Lydia's father for his race. His drunken friends had laughed at all his remarks, while the lizard simply kept to himself. With enough drink in his system, it seemed, the Argonian's courage had blown up in size, enough to challenge someone like her father, considered a sort of expert at brawling at this point._

_One of the corners of her father's mouth tugged upwards in a smirk. Lydia didn't know this strange man, but she knew that no race, even a beast, would have so little sense as to actually challenge her father in a brawl. The Argonian's slitted yellow eyes, glazed over from the drinking, looked over the two of them. His scaly, green body was like that of a terrible creature that one might find in a desolate, remote swamp, like one of the ones in Morthal that she'd heard about. She knew for a fact that no Argonians lived in Whiterun; this lizard must have been a newcomer._

_"Oh yeah? Really?" asked her father. "How much are you willing to bet on that, beast?"_

_"Dad, we gotta go," Lydia said, pulling on her father's elbow._

_"Not now, little cub," he said. "I've been waiting all afternoon to be able to pound this lizard's arse. Don't you trust your old man?" he asked. Of course, he knew the answer to that: of course she did. She had always trusted her dad, and in his martial prowess. There was no way this newcomer could beat her father._

_"You've been making those… those remarks all afternoon, you stinking _Nord_," the lizard spat out, stumbling a bit. "We'll see just how many more you'll hear after I… beat you to the ground."_

_"Alright, then," said her father. Lydia stepped back to give him some room; she knew how bad this could go, and she didn't want to end up with a lizard-man's body flying into hers._

_Her father put up his fists, and the lizard did the same. All the patrons began to cheer them on, most of them for her father. Lydia was one of the many who was cheering for her father, watching as they brawled. The Argonian, in his drunken state, tried to keep on his feet, but his reflexes had been delayed considerably from the alcohol in his blood. Her father avoided a clumsy swing, and countered with a jab to the side of the head. The Argonian swung with his other fist, missing again, and her father retaliated once more with a swift punch to the jaw._

_"Come on, dad! Beat him to the floor!" Lydia shouted, her cheer repeated by some other drinkers. _

_"Drive that snowbank to the ground!"_

_"This should be good!"_

_"My money's on the big one!"_

_"Who taught you how to fight?" her father taunted the Argonian, struggling to stay on his feet. Another punch struck the Argonian in the ribs, causing him to cry out in pain. Her father followed up with a left hook to the jaw, then a knee to the lizard's stomach. The Argonian grunted in pain, and curled his upper body into his stomach. Her father's boot kicked the man back against the nearby counter, causing several of the items on top of the counter to fall over. The Argonian man groaned in pain, staying put._

_"That'll teach you beasts to challenge a Nord," said her father. Lydia saw the Argonian's eyes shoot open, and flare with anger. The lizard snarled, revealing rows of sharp teeth. He stood up, and sent a fist at her father's jaw, catching him off-guard. The lizard was now on a drunken rage, his fists flying wildly at her father, catching him a few times when he couldn't avoid it. Lydia could see an animalistic rage in the lizard's eyes, any iota of his old civilized character having been replaced and taken over by natural instinct, only retaining enough civility to not use his claws on her father, but only the gods knew how long that would last._

_Her father was struck again, and he groaned in pain. Lydia's eyes widened, and she rushed forwards to help her father. However, some bar patrons held her arms, refusing to let her interfere. She shouted at them, telling them to let her go, but they refused to lose the bets they had made because of a little girl, even if she was the Thane's daughter. She was helpless to watch her father fight._

_The Argonian man swung a fist, only to be blocked, then countered with a powerful punch from her father in return. At that moment, any civility inside the Argonian's mind was completely blocked out, his mind being taken over by natural instinct. The Argonian hissed threateningly, then parted his fingers to reveal the sharp, black claws that replaced his nails. He slashed at her father with his claws, who, not expecting such a quick recovery, barely managed to jump back and prevent himself from being eviscerated on the spot._

_The Argonian kept slashing at her father, forcing him back against a table. Her father's hand scrambled for something, and grabbed a nearby empty bottle of Nord mead. He kicked forwards with his foot, stunning his opponent, and then smashed the bottle over the lizard's head. Upon impact, the bottle shattered, the fragments of glass flying out in all directions. Some of them embed themselves in the Argonian's head, and one of them cut her father's shoulder, but it was only a glancing blow._

_The Argonian collapsed under the impact, falling to the floor. Her father, beaten, but victorious, let out a disgusted grimace, and spat at the semi-unconscious body on the floor in disgust._

_"Damn lizard," said Lydia's father. "Nearly gutted me, the damn beast."_

_"Dad, are you alright?" Lydia asked, concerned. Her father smiled warmly._

_"Don't worry, just a few bruises, that's all he managed to get on me," he said. "Come on, now let's go home. Wait until your mother hears… on second thought, let's not tell your mother about this, alright?"_

_Lydia smiled, looking up at her father, proud of him. However, she saw the lizard behind him stirring. Suddenly, the Argonian shot up from his spot, faster than she could anticipate. Her eyes widened, and she pointed at the Argonian, opening her mouth to shout an alarm, but she was too Argonian grabbed her father's shoulder, spun him round to face him, and struck with his claws. _

_Her father's eyes went wide with shock and pain, but he didn't make a sound. Blood trickled out of his mouth, and he made an gurgling, choking sound when he opened it. His fingers began to jerk and grasp at his throat, a deep red gash spread across the soft flesh like a red smile, blood pouring out of it. Almost like a tall tree in the forest, her father began to slowly tip over, until gravity took him, and his body fell to the floor, crashing with a resonating thud. Lydia watched her father's descent with horror, unable to utter a sound. At that moment, time almost seemed to stand still. The sound of her father's body making impact against the floor resonated through her mind again and again, unable to comprehend what had just happened in such a short amount of time._

_The entire tavern broke out into a furious uproar, and all the tavern residents began to yell and shout furiously. The bar patrons all began to throw themselves at the drunk Argonian, the one who had just slit the Thane of Whiterun's throat with his bare claws. Even the ones who had lost their bets wanted a chance to pound the lizard. Lydia screamed, and threw herself at her father's body on the floor, the only one to actually do so. She cried out to him, called his name, tried to get him to respond, still hoping that somehow, her father would be alright. But he wasn't alright. His spastic, jerking motions finally ceased, and his arms lay still forevermore. _

_Lydia continued to call out his name, her voice beginning to crack, and began to shake him vigorously. Finally, she ceased shaking her father's dead body, and removed her hands from him, blood staining them from the contact they made with blood. She realized the horrible truth that she would never have thought that she would see: Sovengarde had finally taken him from her. He was dead. Her supposedly unkillable father was dead._

_She began to sob quietly, crying over her dead father's body as she sat next to him, blood beginning to pool on the floor beside him, the sounds of her pained, despaired sorrow drowned out by the conflict in the tavern._

_…_

"He was buried the next day, his coffin placed in the Hall of the Dead in Whiterun," she said, her voice distant. "The Argonian was brutally beaten, but still alive somehow. He was sentenced to execution the next day, but…" she sighed, and hugged her arms around her legs.

Archer stared at her, slightly dumbstruck. Just as she had said, she had begun to explain to him very plainly, without much detail. As she had gotten further into her story, however, she began to tell him some more details, until she was graphically describing the events that led up to her father's death. He was, needless to say, shocked. It was so obvious now why she hated him so much. He actually felt sorry for making her relive the moment. The result of this was the two of them sitting together, next to the fire, silent.

"Lydia," Archer said, scratching the back of his horned head, looking away from her, "I'm…sorry about what happened to your father so long ago."

He snarled in disgust. "It's scum like him that give my kind the bad reputation they have now. If my kind didn't resort to thievery, and smuggling, and killing innocent people…" he sighed, calming himself down from his agitated state.

"He was not a good defender of his people… of _my_ people." Lydia looked up at him with tired, sad eyes.

"He took the best thing of my life from me," she said softly, hugging her knees again.

"I understand that," Archer said, "but let me tell you this: not all Argonians are alike. They're just as diverse as men and mer. Basing opinions on someone by first impressions alone is not wise, especially if that one first impression came from a _moronic_ individual. Don't think of _me_ badly just because of what another Argonian did."

His yellow eyes gazed into her green ones, and he held her gaze. The look in her eyes showed deep thought, and conflict. She looked like somebody who didn't know what to believe, or to believe whether something was real or not. Archer couldn't blame her, old habits died hard.

"Go to sleep," Archer said. "And think about what I said. Maybe it'll enlighten you."

Archer turned away from her to look out into the woods, while Lydia stared at his back. Finally, she lied back on her bedroll once more, staring out at the stars. She needed some rest, but more importantly, she needed some time to think things over. Her father had told her not to trust Argonians, and she heeded his words. Maybe in the morning she'd get some more answers. Finally, the comforting arms of sleep wrapped themselves around her, and she fell asleep for good.

**A/N: Okay guys, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I just want you guys to let me know if you think I'm going a bit too fast with their "relationship". Remember to review if there's anything you want to know about the story, to tell me if you liked it and want to tell me so that I know to keep doing what I'm doing, or to tell me that you didn't like it so that I can use your input to make my story better (that means constructive criticism!). Please just be patient for the next chapters; school isn't going to go slower any time soon, and I'm going to take my time to make sure these chapters are as good as I can make them. Okay? Awesome. Bye guys!**


	8. Crossing the Rubicon

**How long has it been? 4 weeks? I'm sorry about that, but in addition to some writer's block, there was also the matter of having a bunch of exams. I still think it took longer than it should have, and for that, I apologize. This fic will never die, I will guarantee that, but I just hope you guys can wait for each chapter. I'll try not to let my haste degrade the quality of each chapter. Now remember, I love reviews, so if you want to see more of this, or if you've got some constructive criticism that you'd like to input, then by all means, just press the review button and type in a few words. Enjoy!**

When it was time to move out in the morning, Archer and Lydia had exchanged very little conversation with each other. The events of last night had seemingly changed little between the two. However, there was change bound to happen between the two at some point in the future, and Archer could already tell. When he had bid her a good morning, her voice was still laced with disdain for him in her reply, but it was not nearly as pronounced as it had been before. He was tempted to think that it was as if her scorn for him had lost some of its vigor overnight, even, but he knew better. Of course, it was to be expected that she would still hold some dislike to him; it would take something more than just a little heart to heart to get her to stop disliking him entirely, especially with a troubled past as hers. Not that he sincerely cared, really. He had decided that it was just curiosity that prompted him to ask her why she hated Argonians last night, and nothing more. He was indifferent to whether she liked him or not, but if she didn't like him, then he'd probably have to learn to become a bit more self-reliant, in case his "comrade" wasn't helpful to him in battle.

The two had managed to break down the campsite quickly, and they quickly set off once more towards Ivarstead, setting their pace a bit faster than yesterday's, to make up for "wasted time", according to Lydia. None of them chose to speak with the other again, and Lydia, as always, chose to walk several paces behind her Thane, while he led. It was better that way, he guessed, because he'd have time to think. Archer looked up at the large mountains they were supposed to be going around. His eyes managed to catch sight of the very mountain he was supposed to climb at Ivarstead: the Throat of the World. Looking at it, even from this distance, Archer could see how well-deserved the name was: large and imposing, the mountain, with its peak several miles into the sky, would probably be much more frigid and desolate than the mountain he had climbed to get to Bleak Falls Barrow, not to mention the naturally-hardy wildlife that would inhabit the icy slopes. He'd also heard that the Throat of the World was the tallest mountain in Skyrim. He realized that he didn't know how he'd manage to ever climb such a monstrously sized mountain. He'd had experience with climbing mountains in the past, but none as big as the one he was looking at now. He did still have his frost-resisting enchanted ring from the Jarl's steward, at least. He just hoped that it would provide him with enough resistance to scale the mountain.

Archer looked to his map for the umpteenth time to check if they were still going along the right track. He managed to examine it while not breaking pace. So far, they had cleared a good amount of ground with their pace, even without horses. Hopefully, they'd be making it to Ivarstead either late that night, or early the next morning. Provided that they'd encounter little distraction along the way, of course.

"Get out of my way, _lizard_," said a voice in front of them. Archer halted, and looked to regard the owner of the voice, who wasn't actually a man, but a mer; he was an Altmer, to be exact.

Among all the races, the High Elves, more commonly known as Altmer, were probably the most prideful, haughty race. Archer guessed that their pride was simply a trait that was most shared by the elves. The majority of Altmer seemed to presume themselves to be of a race that was superior to that of all the others, even. This Altmer was no different, acting and sounding just as stuck-up as an arrogant mage, which he likely was; even the most humble Altmer could boast a natural magical supply greater than that of any other race, and some of the most famous (and infamous) mages in history were Altmer. In most terms, this elf was just like the rest of his kind. However, this mer wore strange clothing: a uniform consisting of long, black robes with golden accents and fine brass buttons. They must have been Thalmor.

"I've already told you, get out of our way or I will order my soldiers to attack," said the Thalmor agent. Looking behind the mer, Archer saw that there were about three other Thalmor agents with him, garbed in the high-quality, golden armor that the elves were famous for creating. Swords of the same gold-tinted material hung at their hips, gleaming with a sharpness that was finer than any steel sword could hope to achieve; the elves were infamous for their knowledge on how to make good weapons. However, along with the elves, there was also one _man_ with them, a Nord, judging by his shoulder-length hair; only a Nord man would keep his hair that long. The man was dressed in a dirty, brown, ragged tunic that didn't even cover his arms, trousers made of the same rough, uncomfortable material, and foot wraps that barely fulfilled their intended purpose, along with some rope that bound his hands together. Now that he thought of it, this man was dressed in the same what the Imperials had dressed Archer when he had been taken prisoner by them. The man looked tired, but the defiance in his eyes was unmistakable.

"What's going on here?" Archer asked, looking between the poorly-dressed man and the Thalmor agents.

"This man has been accused of Talos worship, and is now being taken for interrogation," said the agent, crossing his arms.

"Punishment for worshipping a god? I honestly don't see how worshipping Talos is such a bad thing," said Archer, crossing his arms. Archer felt a hand tug at his shoulder, and looked behind him to see Lydia.

"My Thane, we shouldn't be stopping, we need to keep moving," she urged, trying to get him to keep walking. Archer, however, pulled his arm away.

"Talos worship is forbidden because it is immoral to worship a _man_. You can worship any _gods_ you like, but men are _not_ divine. This one here thinks otherwise," he said, gesturing to the prisoner behind him, who glared at the Altmer's back.

"Only a heretic would worship Talos," the Thalmor added. The elf then narrowed his eyes at Archer, and said, "Maybe there's something you'd like to _confess_?" The leading agent crossed his arms, and looked down on Archer, while the soldiers behind him tightened their grips on their sword hilts; while the Argonian may have been relatively tall, standing at about 6 feet, most Altmer were naturally taller than the other races, forcing Archer to have to look up to look the mer in the eye.

His own eyes narrowed towards the agents, and his hands flexed unconsciously as he pulled his lips back slightly in distaste; these elves spoke of immorality, yet they single out a man simply because he worships a certain god. He never liked the Thalmor, and he'd heard enough of them to know that they were a bad group. Before his mind could shift into any more violent thoughts, and before he could act upon them, Lydia was pulling Archer's elbow away, more roughly this time, forcing him out of his stare-down with the agent. He looked back at her, and saw her worried expression. She shook her head, silently telling him to back off. He growled in response, but he knew that she was right; these Thalmor agents would sweep them aside like bugs, given their advantage in numbers, weapons, and, more likely than not, in magical prowess. While the majority of them were common soldiers, even the lowliest soldier in the Thalmor army knew some degree of magic, and usually, it was enough to give them a notable advantage.

"No, _sir, _I have nothing more to say," Archer said.

"Good. Now, get move along, pond scum, lest I carve you into a pair ofboots," said the Thalmor, pushing his way past Archer. The other agents followed, each one giving Archer a disgusted look. He merely glared back at them as they walked away, watching the elves, along with their prisoner, finally move out of their line of sight. They turned, and continued walking.

"What were you _thinking?!_" Lydia asked him when they were out of earshot. "Those are Thalmor agents! _Thalmor!_ You almost got yourself killed!"

"They shouldn't be doing this," Archer replied, "Surely, you can see how wrong the things they do are."

"Yes, I do," Lydia sighed, "but we can't be picking our fights with the wrong people. There were more of them than us, and you're not even that good with a sword."

Archer glared, but he backed down quickly, saying, "You're right, you're right… but I still hate those damn Thalmor."

"Well, hating isn't going to do anything for us," Lydia said, "Right now, we need to keep up our pace. Senseless arguing isn't going to help."

"Would you stop pestering me with the time management already? We're doing just fine," Archer said. He looked up at the sky, squinting at the sun overhead. "We might yet get there by nightfall."

"Good," Lydia replied. "We've been lucky so far, I guess. We haven't been stalled by any bandits yet, at least. Let's just hope that-"

She would have said more, if not for the suddenness of Archer's stop almost making her crash into him from behind. He had gone rigid, his fist up in a motion for her to stop. She peered around him, and looked at his face. He was looking around warily, cautiously, suspecting something was watching them. He seemed to be angling his head in different directions, as if trying to listen for a particular sound. It worried her, so she did the same, trying to listen for whatever it was that was troubling him. Her blood nearly froze when she finally heard it: the sound of powerful wingbeats in the distance.

"Dragon!" shouted Archer, but the warning was not necessary; the danger made itself known to the two in the form of a ferocious, spine-chilling roar.

Lydia turned her head to look at the dragon. Her eyebrows rose as she took in the sight of the gigantic, brown-scaled flying reptile headed straight towards them. Running was useless; dragons were infamous for their powerful eyesight, as depicted in the tales, and she guessed that their wings could carry them through the air faster than either one of them could run. There was no other way around. They'd have to fight it. Both of them immediately adopted a combat stance, Lydia pulling her Orcish great sword off her back while Archer pulled out his bow.

The dragon roared, and headed for them, flying at a speed that belied its size. It opened its mouth, and a fireball the size of a horse carriage flew at them. They barely managed to dive out of the way in time to avoid the fiery explosion that struck the ground, causing black scorches to scar the earth. Intensely hot air from the flames washed over the two, but they did their best to ignore it; even the slightest distraction could mean their death. Lydia held her sword in one hand, ready to dive again if the situation called for it, while Archer ran to a thickly-wooded area of the road, before he started taking shots at the dragon. Regardless of his expert marksmanship, the speed at which the dragon flew, coupled with Archer's relatively light arrows, made it difficult for him to hit a vital area on the dragon.

The vile creature circled overhead, looking for a gap in the trees in which it could hit them, while Archer made effective use of the surrounding forest as cover to fire at the dragon from. It could not safely fly close to them with all the trees; it would only end up hurting itself, or getting tangled in the branches. For the moment, Archer could safely take shots at the dragon as it circled overhead, unable to attack him again. However, dragons were no brute beasts; they could be every bit as cunning and imaginative as their mortal counterparts, possibly even more so, due to the battlefield experience that came with immortality. The dragon flew in close, and stopped in front of the forest at a hover, its giant bat-like wings keeping it suspended in midair as if it were weightless. The winds buffeted Archer, making it more difficult to focus his sight on the dragon, despite its now-closer position to him. The dragon arched its neck back, and growled. Archer, recognizing the growl as a cue for its fire breath, immediately threw down his bow, and put up a magical ward. The white-hot flames that inevitably erupted from the dragon's gaping maw incinerated the surrounding forest area, turning trees into giant wooden candles, and their leaves into tinder to be consumed by the hungry flames. Even from behind his protective ward, Archer could feel the unbearable heat of the flames sneaking around his magical shield. The flames subsided, and Archer took out his ward, starting to run low on his magical reserves; while he had experience in the School of Restoration magic, it didn't necessarily mean that it was a primary skill to him.

While he and Lydia, who had managed to avoid the flames by hiding behind Archer's shield, had been spared from the dragon's breath, the surrounding forest had caught fire, and it was spreading quickly. In moments, the air became thick with smoke, and hard to breathe in; the two began coughing vigorously with every breath they took, shutting their eyes to stop from getting smoke in them.

"Get out of the forest!" Archer coughed, blindly rushing out of the burning woods, with Lydia behind him. The two ran out into the more open space beside the road, away from the smoke. However, this also meant that they no longer had the advantage of cover on their side; the dragon had them in clear sight, and immediately took the chance to dive at them. Archer barely got out of the way before he saw the dragon's claw grab the space next to him, taking a large chunk of the earth in its grip instead. The dragon circled back, and dove at them once more. This time, Archer had managed to get up in time to launch a lightning bolt at its face, causing the dragon to shriek in pain, and abruptly change its flight path before it hit them.

"Gods damn you! Get down here!" Lydia shouted in a challenge. She could do nothing while the dragon was flying, because she had no bow, and had no magical aptitude either, unlike her Thane, meaning that her proficiency lied solely on melee combat. The dragon, as it seemed, must have either understood Lydia's challenge, or gotten arrogant of its power, because it flew in low towards them, intending to land. However, it did not come to a graceful landing; instead, it slowed down its flight speed just enough so as to not hurt itself when its entire body landed on the floor with a resonating thud. The sheer force of its landing, coupled with its proximity to them, caused both Lydia and Archer to fall onto their backs.

While Lydia was still struggling to get up - standing back up from a laying down position while wearing a full suit of steel armor was no easy feat - Archer had already scrambled to his feet. He powered up another lightning bolt in his left hand to fire at the creature, and released it. The lightning bolt struck the dragon in the face, causing it to growl in pain. It snapped at him, but the Argonian deftly avoided the attack. He intended to counter with his own sword swing, but another snap from the dragon's jaws made him keep his distance. His Imperial shortsword was too short for him, its length forcing him to get closer to the beast than he was comfortable with, resulting in him jumping back away from the dragon every time it snapped at him. Archer was struggling to find an opening suitable for someone of his skill to take advantage of, but the dragon was not relenting. Lydia ran up to the dragon, great sword in hand, and slashed at its hind leg. The sword chopped at the dragon's limb, the tough scales providing suitable resistance even to the Orcish weapon, but not enough to prevent injury. The dragon snarled in pain, and turned around to face Lydia. The Nord tried to hack at its head, but the dragon's head rushed towards to strike her in the side with its snout, sending her to the floor a few feet away. Her steel chestplate took most of the impact, but Lydia was still stunned by the attack, leaving her vulnerable to an attack from the beast.

Another lightning bolt to its flank brought its attention back to Archer. The Argonian readied another bolt, but the dragon once more arched its neck backwards and growled in preparation for another fire breath. Instantly, Archer dispelled his lightning bolt and substituted it for another magically-costly protective ward. Once more, the flames struck at Archer, setting fire to the area around him, but not penetrating his shield. However, the dragon inched closer, its flames not relenting the least bit, the fire getting hotter and more intense with each step it took towards him. The heat was starting to become unbearable, even to a cold-blooded man like him who loved the warmth. Archer snarled as he felt his magical reserves depleting themselves faster than he hoped.

_Where in Oblivion is that Nord when I need her?_ he thought. He peeked to one side, and saw that Lyda was finally up, and she was starting to run towards them, but she wouldn't make it in time to help. His shield suddenly dispelled itself, and Archer was left standing with his arms outstretched in a casting position. He tried to recast the spell, but it was utterly useless; he had completely run out of magicka. However, as luck would have it, the dragon's breath had also expired just as Archer's spell did, and now the dragon was right in front of him, glaring murderously at the Argonian. Archer looked back up towards the dragon with indignation, just as the monster opened its mouth to clamp its jaws down on him.

Archer shut his eyes, awaiting death, but instead, he heard Lydia's battle cry, and the sound of metal cleaving flesh, followed by the dragon's pained shriek. He looked to see Lydia between him and the dragon, bloodied great sword in her hands. The dragon, having recovered from the initial shock of the unexpected strike, looked back towards the Nord, a bloody red gash on the side of its head showing where her sword had made its mark. The creature growled, baring its numerous sharp teeth, but the housecarl was undaunted, determined to protect her Thane at all costs. Archer grunted, the mental exhaustion of having overexerted himself and completely used up all his magical supplies threatening to buckle his knees, but he readied his sword once more determinedly; he'd be fine after a while, but in the time that it took for him to recover his magicka, either they would have killed the dragon, or they'd both be dead. Archer tried his best to help in the fight with his frustratingly short weapon while Lydia faced off against the dragon head-on. The dragon was behaving more warily with the Nord holding the great sword, taking its time to attempt an attack; it knew that she posed a threat.

Its head suddenly lashed out like a venomous serpent, moving faster than would be expected of such a large creature. Lydia, having anticipated this, had swung her sword it time to have the blade strike the side of the dragon's head before it had reached her, forcing it to one side. It growled again in pain, and quickly tried to go for another bite, but Lydia's sword caught it on the jaw this time, once more stopping it from reaching her. Archer tried to run it to its side to sink his sword into its ribs, but the dragon's wing shot forwards, almost hitting him as he jumped back yet again. Archer growled in frustration, and was about to yell a challenge to the dragon, but something else came out of his mouth instead:

_"Fus!"_

Archer had never consciously desired to use the Shout, it had been more of a reflexive action, much like a sneeze, albeit a very deadly sneeze. The small shockwave, which was strong enough to stagger a fully-armored man, barely made the Dragon flinch as it connected. However, Lydia made use of this minuscule opening, and slashed with her sword at the Dragon's head, once more forcing it away from her. However, instead of staying back, Lydia let out a ferocious battle cry, and ran forth, thrusting her sword deep into the vile beast's chest, the weapon striking the Dragon's heart. She could still feel the dragon's heartbeat pulse against her blade, the blood beginning to pour out of the thrust wound. The dragon let out a terrible shriek as the weapon penetrated through its thick, armored scales; it was enough to make Archer cringe, and clasp his hands over his ears. Lydia, after wincing from the dragon's dying shriek herself, pulled out her sword, now coated in the red fluids, and the dragon collapsed unceremoniously onto the floor, dead. Both of them let out a sigh of relief, sheathing their weapons.

"A Dragon for a Troll, then?" Lydia said, turning towards him. "Seems like a fair trade-off," she said sarcastically.

Archer opened his mouth to speak, but instead, a gasp came out as he witnessed the dragon's corpse disintegrating.

"Oh no," he said, his eyes wide, backing away from the corpse.

"What is it?" Lydia asked him.

"Oh gods, not again!" he said, not answering her question, instead choosing to start backing away from the corpse.

However, his actions were in vain; the aurora of golden lights burst forth from the earthly remains of the deceased dragon, and flew through the air, flowing like a golden river as it once again settled on Archer. The Argonian went rigid at the sensation of absorbing the dragon soul. His eyes were shut tight, like a patient who is about to have a limb amputated, as the lights flowed into him, swirling around him, integrating itself as part of Archer's being. Lydia watched the whole display in awe and wonder. She had never seen such a spectacle occur in her life, such a display of power; she never knew what happened to him when he killed a dragon, but she had never expected something as grand as this. It was all surreal, something that you'd only be able to believe if you saw it for yourself. There was no denying the fact that he was Dragonborn, that was certain.

The lights ceased to flow, and Archer began to sway slightly, indication of his dizziness; he was not used to the feeling of absorbing the soul of a dragon yet. Lydia turned to look at the dragon's body, now having been reduced to a skeleton, with its ancient, yellowed bones standing as if having been there for ages. She looked back to him, and saw his swaying form, a hand on his head from discomfort. She began to walk towards him, slightly worried.

"Archer? Are you al-"

Archer's eyes snapped open at that instant, and she froze under his cold gaze. She had been subjected to those gazes of his before, but something was different about this one, much more different; something powerful was burning inside those dark slits in his eyes, almost like a fire. It was an ancient, indescribable power not seen for ages, more powerful than any magic to ever exist, that had surfaced. She didn't know whether it was a trick of her mind or not, but even in this light, his eyes seemed to be _glowing _as well, like a golden fire burning deep inside of him - a side effect of absorbing the lights, maybe? She gasped, and took a step back, both in awe and fear, as the two yellow glowing orbs focused on her. He shut his eyes once more, and groaned in apparent discomfort, his facial features contorting into what would have been a grimace on a human, but looked more like a feral snarl on the Argonian.

"Gods…damn it," Archer said, putting his hand to his head. He opened his eyes again to look at her. They had ceased to glow.

"What was that all about?" Lydia asked, eyes wide.

"A violation of my body and soul," Archer grumbled bitterly. "When I kill a dragon, I apparently absorb their soul for power, whether I want to or not."

Lydia stared at the dragon again, still in awe. Why would anybody reject such a gift? There were so many people that would do anything to have such power, and the lizard treated his blessing like a curse of some sort.

Archer, however, did not allow her to linger on her own thoughts: "Come on, there's nothing to see here," he grumbled again, pushing his way past Lydia.

His indifference to the situation surprised her; despite having just been in a heated battle with a legendary creature, and after having absorbed its _soul_, the Argonian was simply walking away, as if nothing had ever happened. She knew that he was strongly denying the fact that he was Dragonborn, but even so, it shouldn't be so simple for him to walk away as if the entire event never occurred. She shook her head; she'd never be able to fully understand this lizard. She began to follow him out, picking up her sword as she did so. However, he stopped just a few feet away from the dragon. He then kneeled over its skeleton, inspecting the bones and scales that remained from the light-absorption process.

"How much do you think dragon's bones would fetch for?" he finally asked.

Realizing the question was directed towards her, Lydia shrugged. "I wouldn't know, I'm not a merchant, my Thane. But…" she said, looking over the skeleton herself. "Maybe an armorer or a weapons smith could make something out of them. If not, then I'm sure there would be _someone_ who wants them; they're not easy to come by, considering how dragons have been extinct for ages."

After thinking for a few more moments, Archer nodded, and bent down, grabbing a bone. It came off with a crack, and he turned his head towards her.

"Hey Lydia, I think I have something for you to carry," he told her. Her shoulders sunk slightly in realization.

"As you wish, my Thane," she sighed, walking over to him to accept the pile of dragon's bones and scales accumulating in his arms.

* * *

"How much longer until we reach the town?" Lydia asked.

"I told you already, we'll make it before it gets too dark," Archer said, still walking forwards.

"It's already night! We need to set up camp before it gets too dark to see," she said. They'd been walking several hours since their incident with the dragon, with neither Archer nor Lydia choosing to speak of what had happened.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Archer said after a few moments. He pointed to the road up ahead, where the small town of Ivarstead could be made out from behind a small hill. They made their way into the town, which Archer described as mostly being an aimless congregation of buildings, and stopped in front of the tavern.

"It's too late to be climbing up the mountain," Archer said, "Let's stay a night at the inn. We head out tomorrow morning to High Hrothgar." Lydia nodded in affirmation, and the two of them headed into the tavern, where they ordered their dinner.

"This isn't going to be very easy, is it?" Archer asked, even though he knew what the answer was.

"Not likely," Lydia said, accepting the mug of mead that was placed in front of her. "Then again, nothing really is these days anymore."

"At least you Nords have _natural_ resistance to the cold," Archer said, "meanwhile I'm freezing my tail off in the cold."

"Yeah, but you've got magical aptitude, which I don't," she said, "just heat yourself up with a spell or something. Don't you mages have anything like that?"

"I'm no mage," he said, "unlike them I'm still useful without my magical abilities. I can fight without magic."

"Only to a very small extent," Lydia added, bringing her mug back up to her mouth.

"That's why you're here," Archer said, "to take the enemies head-on while I shoot them from behind."

"I'm no vanguard, I'm a housecarl," she said. "Which means that I am a protector, not a meat-shield."

"I'm not reducing you to a shield, It's called tactic," Archer said.

"I just hope you can survive in the event that we have to fight more than just a few bandits," she replied. "No matter what we face out there, _I'll_ be fine. I wouldn't say the same about you, if anything got too close for a bow."

"I'm not a defenseless child," he growled, "I can fight with swords, I just prefer to not engage my enemies head-on." Their food finally came, and he settled for focusing on his meal instead. Grabbing a piece of beef, he bit into it, his sharp teeth making short work of the meat, before swallowing it, not having chewed a single bite. Chewing wasn't easy for his race, who didn't have blunted molars, unlike the rest of the races of Tamriel.

"You know, it'd be safer for you if you actually bothered _chewing_ your food," Lydia remarked, watching him eat. "You'll be less likely too choke that way."

Archer took a brief moment to answer: "I'd like to see you try to chew your food when all your teeth are naturally sharpened to a point," he said, before resuming to shovel food into his mouth.

"Good point," Lydia said, looking back to her own food.

They ate in silence, with Archer's noisy chewing providing the only source of sound in the room, which could have probably been reduced if he tried. When they finished their meals, Archer ordered rooms for them, and they walked up to their respective lodging rooms.

"Sleep well," Lydia said, "You'll need it for tomorrow."

"Was that supposed to be a 'good-night'?" he asked her. His response was a shutting door. Shaking his head, Archer opened the door to his own room, and closed it behind him. Once inside, he paused briefly, before letting out a tired sigh.

_I guess tomorrow's when I climb the mountain,_ he thought to himself. He slumped down onto a chair, thinking. How much of a chance did he have climbing that thing? He, along with basically every other member of his kind, despised the cold. Temperatures on a mountain could drop so quickly, he could get frostbite before he knew it. Warming spells could only do so much, and he didn't want to waste all his magicka on keeping himself warm; he'd need it to fight anything they came across. As much as he hated being vulnerable, he knew she was right in her earlier statements; he was going to have a hard time if anything got within reach, close enough for his bow to be near-useless. The wildlife on the mountain itself would prove to be a challenge, he knew; the animals that lived so high up were naturally more durable due to their natural adaptation, meaning that even a wolf from that mountain would give him more trouble than the ones in the forests around it. Then there was the danger of avalanches…

He groaned in frustration, and rubbed his temples. He wouldn't need to be thinking of any of this if he wasn't Dragonborn. He could be already in Cyrodiil, exploring some far-off cavern, or discovering some new ancient ruin, but instead, he had to run around some province with hostile natives, some gods-forsaken _dragons_… and not to mention, it was cold. Everywhere, wherever he went, the cold could find a way to follow him. The only respite from the chilling temperatures outside was right next to a fire, or sometimes beneath his blankets. Even in Whiterun, the ever-present chill of the province was still felt. He hated the cold, but tried his best to not complain about it incessantly.

Oh well, at least he was warm inside the tavern. Remembering something, Archer dug around in his pack, and pulled a book out of it. The cover was a dulled black color, with a steel-colored, stylized depiction of a dragon on the front; the emblem of the Empire. He had initially gotten the book from the sleazy Breton trader in Whiterun, mostly out of curiosity. Shrugging, he opened the book to the first page, where the letters "Book of the Dragonborn" were printed. The pages were no longer white, there were tears on the paper, and the letters were printed in fading black ink, but they were still legible. The initial subject matter was mostly history, but it was intriguing. The book itself, however, was terribly out-of-date; it mentioned the current Emperor as "His Magesty Pelagius Septim IV." The book told of how all the previous Emperors were of Dragon Blood, blessed by the Divine known as Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. He continued reading, the book mentioning more Dragonblood Emperors, Tiber Septim, and the Akaviri Dragonguard, who were the direct predecessors of the Blades, the Emperor's formerly-sworn bodyguard, who were now disbanded. It would have been interesting to someone who enjoyed a history lesson, but Archer wasn't a knowledgeable scholar, and as such, had little interest in the further details of the history. As he was going to put the book down, however, his eyes caught sight of a few very special words. Printed in fading black letters, the words "Prophecy of The Dragonborn" were seen on the beginning of the next paragraph.

Intrigued, he read on: _"I leave you with what is known as "The Prophecy of the Dragonborn". It often said to originate in an Elder Scroll, although it is sometimes also attributed to the ancient Akaviri. Many have attempted to decipher it, and many have also believed that its omens had been fulfilled and that the advent of the "Last Dragonborn" was at hand. I make no claims as an interpreter of prophecy, but it does suggest that the true significance of Akatosh's gift to mortalkind has yet to be fully understood._

_When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_

_When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped_

_When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles_

_When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls_

_When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding_

_The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn._

Archer looked at the printed letters incredulously. What was this book saying? It mentioned a World-Eater, but who - or what - is it? Was he supposed to stop this World Eater? The cryptic message in the book was unnerving, especially since it spoke about his own fate, despite the prophecy having been made several thousand years ago. How could these ancient Nords possibly know about him? And what was he supposed to do? What does being Dragonborn mean? Unfortunately for him, the book ended right there. It gave no insight, no clues, nothing; just a cryptic prophecy about the Last Dragonborn. Him.

He set the book down, and heaved another sigh. If those words meant anything, he was going to be doing more than just climbing a mountain to meet a few grey-bearded men, at some point in time. _It would be best not to dwell on it,_ he thought. _I need to rest for the mountain climb._ He got up, and began to remove every bit of his leather armor, until he was left only in his loincloth. He climbed into bed, and shut his eyes, hoping to get much-needed sleep. However, the book's prophecy did not once leave his mind. It wasn't something that was easily brushed off, nor ignored. Whoever wrote up the prophecy had known of his existence thousands of years before his birth, and also predicted what was going to happen in the future. The whole thing was eerie, and surreal. He managed to push the thoughts out of his head after a while, and finally, sleep claimed him.

As usual, morning came earlier for Lydia than it did for Archer, it seemed, as she waited in the tavern for her Thane to finally come down from his room. She was starting to rethink letting her Thane sleep a little more than she would normally advise; she thought that he'd be better rested for the strenuous climb up the mountain if he slept more. She simply lifted her mug back up to her mouth, draining the cup of its last dregs of mead; patience was a virtue, they said. Finally, Archer came down from his room, looking… well, she couldn't really tell; it was hard to tell what an Argonian was feeling by his expression, but if she had to guess, he was definitely well rested. He picked a seat next to her, and sat down silently. He ordered his breakfast - a large platter of bacon, chicken, and plenty of bread as well - and the cook went to get his food, leaving Archer alone with Lydia, who was giving him a strange look.

"You should make sure you eat more bread and meat than anything else," Archer told her, "you'll need the extra energy to get all the way up."

"You've had experience climbing mountains?" Lydia asked. He didn't look like the kind of person who would ever want to climb a mountain, since mountains were usually associated with cold and wind, both of which Archer had clearly made his dislike for clear.

"Yes, I used to climb some of them back in Cyrodiil," he replied, "but never have I climbed a mountain as big as the one we're going to climb today."

The man came back with Archer's plate, piled with food on top, and set it down in front of him. Archer grabbed a piece of bacon and shoved it into his mouth, barely bothering to chew the food before swallowing it. Lydia looked at his food, and called for the cook to bring her a similar plate, but much smaller; she had already eaten some food before Archer had come down from his room. Satisfied at having her take his advice, Archer resumed to shovel food into his mouth, chewing only when he felt was necessary; he tended to swallow most of his food whole anyways. However, the quickened pace at which not having to chew his food caused was incidental in helping him finish quickly, and as such, the food on his plate was gone by the time Lydia had finished her smaller plate.

"Okay, let's go," Archer said, throwing a few coins onto the table, before getting out of his chair, and making towards the door, with Lydia doing the same. Once outside, Archer turned to regard the intimidating mountain. From so close, he realized just how colossal this mountain really was. He knew it was large, but this mountain dwarfed any other he had ever seen; even when he craned his neck back as far as he could, he still couldn't make out its summit. No doubt that the mountain would be a formidable obstacle, but he had gotten over big obstacles before. Maybe not as big as this mountain, but he wasn't going to back down from this challenge. Yes, this was what it was: a challenge. They continued walking through the town, over a stone bridge, until they finally reached it: the first step of the 7000 Steps to High Hrothgar. He didn't take another step forwards, however. He contemplated his situation: did he really have to go up this mountain? What was stopping him from just stopping right here and walking away? Memories of Helgen once again took over his thoughts, yet another painful reminder of why he was going to go through with this. He really hated whichever Divine was keeping these memories in his head.

"Well, this is it, then," Archer asked, looking up at the mountain, still trying to find its peak.

"Quite so, my Thane," said Lydia, coming to stand beside him. "This is the Throat of the World."

"The tallest mountain in Skyrim?"

"Indeed."

"With fierce winds and unrelenting cold at the top?"

"Yeah."

"Full of dangerous wildlife?"

"Most likely."

Archer sighed. He could always trust Lydia to be blunt and frank with him, at least. "Well, they say every journey begins with a single step. Let's go."

With that said, Archer took his first steps, all the while thinking '_What have I gotten myself into?'_

* * *

"Six hundred eighty-seven… six hundred eighty-eight…"

"You're actually counting them?" Archer asked, looking over his shoulder at his housecarl.

"I'm just curious…" she said, looking over the rest of the snow-blanketed stone steps.

"I really doubt there's actually 7000 steps at this point," he said, "Well, 7000 intact steps, anyways."

When they had first started climbing, each stone step was clearly visible. However, as they got higher up, the wind began to pick up, and snow began to accumulate on them. At this point of elevation in the mountain, the steps were almost completely hidden from view because of all the snow, or broken from their exposure to the natural elements. They had been walking for several hours, with rest-stops at lengthy intervals, making good time up the mountain, but the snow had nevertheless begun to hinder their progress, turning some places on the ground into areas with shin-deep snow that they had to trudge through.

"Let's rest for a moment, shall we?" Archer asked, stopping beside a snow-capped, barren tree. Lydia nodded, and sat down next to Archer. "Keep your sword out, too," he added, "we don't want to get surprised again like with that wolf earlier." Remembering the incident where they had gotten ambushed by a vicious Ice Wolf, Lydia nodded, and pulled out her steel sword, sitting next to Archer.

"How're you faring?" she asked. Cold weather like this was fatal to his kind, she knew. He seemed fine, but death could come at the most unexpected times for him, especially since she knew that he hated showing weakness, and would probably hide any discomfort he would be feeling.

"Well, I could definitely be doing better," he answered, to her surprise, rolling his shoulders. "I've got less arrows than I feel safe with, and I've got to keep renewing my heating spell more often than before. My magicka's running out, which isn't good either. It's probably gonna be hell for me going back down the mountain… It's times like these that I envy you warm-bloods."

Lydia shrugged, and said, "Well, I might be able to survive longer out in the cold than you can, but I can't rip someone's throat out with my bare hands."

Archer chuckled briefly, and said, "Well, yes, there is that to think about." A gust of cold wind flew over the two, causing them both to shiver slightly. Archer unconsciously wrapped the wolf furs that were currently acting as his cloak tighter around his body. It may not have been one of those high-quality fur cloaks that the nobles tended to wear, but it would have to do for now.

"Here, have the rest," Lydia said, holding out a mostly-empty bottle of wine from her bag, depleted from their drinking. "You'll need it more than I will."

Archer accepted the bottle, and drank right from it, seeing as how little there was left anyways. The wine would help keep him warm on the inside, much easier than using a heating spell that had to be renewed every now and then. He downed the wine quickly, and set down the bottle.

"How long have we been climbing?" he asked suddenly.

"I'd have to say about… most of the day," she said. "We'll probably be coming back down this mountain by nightfall, unless the Greybeards keep us for a while."

"I wonder how on earth those old men could survive weather like this, even from inside their temple," Archer thought aloud.

"I'm sure they've got a fire or the like in their temple," Lydia said, rubbing her hands together. She then got up, saying "Come on, let's keep moving. I don't want to stay out here for too long."

They continued walking towards the top of the mountain, the winds getting even more vicious than before. According to Lydia, this wasn't even a snowstorm yet. Regardless, the biting winds would have deterred lesser travelers or pilgrims, but the two adventurers continued onwards, pushing past the walls of ice and wind that slammed into them every so often. Archer had to renew his heating spell yet again to combat the bone-chilling gusts that seemed determined to throw him off the mountain.

"I hate this cold," Archer hissed, tightening the furs around him even further, almost to the point of breaking them. "It just _had_ to be the _tallest_ mountain in Skyrim I had to climb, didn't it?"

"My Thane, enough with your complaints," Lydia said. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

"Death would be a respite to this forsaken cold," Archer bitterly replied.

They rounded a corner, and were met with the sight of a large, stone structure. It was made of stones so dark, they seemed black, and - surprisingly - showed very little sign of wearing or weathering; obviously, they must have magically enchanted or reinforced the stone to ensure the durability of the temple. High Hrothgar, large and imposing, must have been there for ages, despite the possible enchantment. There was an air of reverence to the building, much like one would feel inside a temple of a Divine. Two large sets of steps that led up to either pair of the large double doors in front flanked what appeared to be an offerings pile, where past pilgrims would donate something to the Greybeards. Bags of supplies, flowers, and gemstones were among the miscellaneous items in the large pile; these Greybeards must've been respected by the townspeople, or by plenty of determined Pilgrims.

"That's High Hrothgar," Archer said. "Good, now we can finally get this over with." He set off towards the imposing structure, faster than normal despite the accumulating snow. He walked up the left set of steps to the door, and stopped. He looked up at the top of the large iron doors, and then back down do the iron handle. There would be no telling what would happen in there, but he hoped that they could help him learn what he wanted. Without further hesitation, he placed his hand on the door, and pushed forwards, grunting from the effort of having to push aside the heavy ironclad doors. The moment the doors were open, whirling wind rushed forwards into the room, following the two of them inside. Quickly, Archer stepped inside, with Lydia stepping in as well, and he shut the door, keeping out the howling winds outside from entering.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Archer stepped back from the doors, and turned. The first room was very simple in design; the large room descended into a lowered platform, and several hallways led from and to the room. Another large set of doors similar to the ones they had just entered were on the opposite end of the room, with a small pair of stone steps leading up to them. Braziers with burning flames provided some warmth, but not enough from this distance. There was not a single living soul in the room aside from the two of them, however.

"Where are they?" Archer asked. "Hello? Anybody in here?" he shouted, the sound of his voice echoing across the room. Nobody came to answer his call, and the echoes descended into silence.

"Damn it," Archer hissed, "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Maybe they're in another room?" Lydia suggested.

Just as Archer was going to go off to look for them, a group of men in robes filed out into the room from the different hallways. The men were all old, with wrinkles carving their weathered faces, and - as their names suggested - grey beards which hung from their chins. There was no doubt that these were the men they were looking for. One of the grey robed men stepped forwards away from the group, and walked towards Archer and Lydia. He stopped only a few feet away. The man looked over the two of them, briefly inspecting Archer and his housecarl, before his eyes stayed fixed on the Argonian.

"So, a Dragonborn appears, at this time in the turn of the era," said the old man, his voice as weathered as his features. "Tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

"Actually," Archer began, "I was hoping you'd be able to help me."

"I shall see what I can do," said the man, nodding once. "But first, we must see if you truly are Dragonborn. Show me your power."

"You want me to… Shout at you?" Archer asked.

"Yes," said the man, "Give us a taste of your Voice. Do not worry, we won't be hurt by it."

Archer seemed to think over the thought of Shouting at the man for some reason, probably wondering how this man could resist being hurt by his power. Having thought it over, Archer fully faced the man, took a breath, and Shouted.

"_Fus!"_

A blue shockwave the size of a man flew out from Archer's mouth as his reptilian lips formed the word, slamming into the monk with great force. The old, grey robes man staggered backwards, and for a moment, Archer thought he had hurt him. Just as the man had said, however, he was unharmed, and stood up normally, as if the word Archer had just uttered were any other.

"So, it truly is you, Dragonborn," said the Greybeard, his smile showing delight. "Welcome to High Hrothgar." Behind him, the other Greybeards inclined their heads in respect, silently watching their leader regard the newly-verified Dragonborn before them.

"My name is Arngeir, I speak for the Greybeards," said the old man in front of Archer. He turned to his fellow monks behind him. "These are the three other Greybeards on this mountain: Master Borri, Einarth, and Wulfgar." Once more, the grey robed men behind him inclined their heads in respect.

"Why can't they speak?" Archer asked.

"From constantly meditating on and practicing the Thu'um," Arngeir said, "their voices have become too powerful to utter even a single word. It would be enough to kill a man."

What a sad thing, having to not only live atop a remote mountain in solitude, but in _complete silence_ as well. What benefit could there be to training a power that would prevent him from being able to even speak properly?

"Now tell me, Dragonborn, what is it that you need of us?" Arngeir asked. "Guidance in your quest? Or perhaps training your Voice?"

Archer looked once more to the three robed figures behind Arngeir, then back at the aged man. Steeling himself, Archer stood upright, and said, "I wish to cure myself of being Dragonborn."

The old man in front of him rose his eyebrows very briefly in surprise, as did the men behind him. If Archer could have turned around and looked at Lydia, he bet that he would have seen that she hardly tried to hide the shocked expression on her face. The surprise on the men's faces, however, quickly died down, and the room was left in silence. Everyone stared at Archer in awe and wonder.

"Dragonborn," the grey robed man began, "Why do you seek this? To remove such a blessing?"

"It may be a blessing to you Nords," Archer began, "but I am clearly not a Nord, and I wish to be purged of this impurity."

"This is not an impurity," said Arngeir, "it is a blessing! Not many mortal men can Speak like you can. You could use this power to help you-"

"I don't want to know what this power can do," Archer said, "I just want it gone. Can you do that?"

Arngeir's face showed sorrow, and said, "No, we cannot remove your being Dragonborn."

"And why not?" Archer demanded. If the man were afraid of Archer's hostility, he hid it very well, remaining calm and collected.

"Because we do not know how," said the man.

Archer's face contorted into a frustrated snarl, and he had to restrain himself from clenching his fists too hard, lest he cut himself again with his own claws.

"Tell me," said the Greybeard, "why do you wish yourself to be made normal?"

"Because it is simply not right," Archer said. "An Argonian, the Dragonborn? Savior of all mankind, and fabled hero of a culture completely different from his own? It makes no sense!" He threw his arms up in a gesture of frustration. "Why, of all the able people in Tamriel, did they have to choose me: an Argonian who has had little battlefield experience and who is of a race despised by the very men he is supposed to be admired by?"

"The way of the Divines is truly perplexing at best," said the sagacious old man. "Nobody knows how or why they act, nor do I believe we ever will, but they chose you out of all of Nirn for a reason. They saw something in you, and gave you something as a sign of their trust in your capabilities: the Dragonblood."

"That's another thing," said Archer, pointing a clawed finger at him, "If I have Dragonblood, then I am clearly not a true Argonian. How can I be an Argonian if I don't even have a soul of one?"

The old man suddenly seemed to be pleased with what Archer said. "I see that, despite the great racial prejudice against your kind that you have obviously seen and endured, you still retain a sense of strong racial pride." Archer's angry scowl softened at the mention of racial pride, and he backed down slightly.

"I never had much growing up, except for a good foster family," Archer said, softer than before, but still retaining a hint of aggression. "Pride in my race, in my people's history and their culture, was one of the few things I did have when growing up, but I never knew enough of my people to be satisfied with myself. I'm not a native-born Argonian, and what little I do know of my people's culture was from a kindly Argonian who worked at the temple in the Imperial City."

"And what does this have to do with you wanting to reject the gift of Dragonblood?" asked the Graybeard.

Archer hesitated for a moment, unsure if telling them about his life was a good idea. He settled for saying: "I never truly knew my real parents; I was separated from them at a very young age. But the religious entity revered by Argonians is what connects all members of my kind, so whenever I feel like I'm being faithful to my people's culture, I feel a sort of connection with my parents, and a sense of kinship with others of my race. If I had a soul of an Argonian, then I could properly connect with them, but with this Dragonblood…" he trailed off, and sighed. "What connection is there?"

The room was left in silence. Nobody chose to speak, possibly out of fear that they would provoke someone. Archer directly looked into the eyes of the men, daring them, challenging them, to speak. If there ever was a reason they had that he should keep this power, he'd want them to tell him right now, if his own motivation to remove it wasn't as powerful.

"Dragonborn… I understand," said Arngier, his tone one of genuine understanding.

"No you don't," Archer said, "you've lived on this mountain all your life."

"Don't you think I had a family before I chose this path?" Arngeir asked. "I left them because I believed that I could achieve a better understanding of the world, and get closer to the gods. I vowed to honor my family with my practices here, just as I do to the Divines." Archer remained silent, choosing to stare at the cold stone floor at his feet instead of at the Greybeard's face.

"You see," began Arngeir again, "we follow what we call the Way of the Voice. With it, we worship the glory of the gods. However, just as I did, you can also use the power of your Voice to honor your parents. What you do, you can do in their name, and with that, your determination can see you through. It matters not that you are of Dragonblood. Did you feel a connection with your parents before you knew you were Dragonblood whenever you worshipped to your god?"

Slowly, Archer nodded in affirmation. "Then what makes the difference if you've got a dragon's soul or not? Your faithfulness only exists if you believe it to be so. Don't see this as an obstacle to your goal, see it as a stepping stone. Would you pass up the opportunity to be able to be able to honor your parents with your Voice? The very people that created Tamriel's Dragonborn? If not for yourself, then do it for them. You may not know each other, you may all be worlds away, but honor and respect have no boundaries, for those who deserve it."

Archer looked back up at the Greybeard, and looked him directly in the eye.

"The choice is yours Dragonborn," Arngeir added. "We will not teach you if you do not want to learn."

Archer, once more, looked away, thinking over the decision hard. Whatever he decided right here, it would be the point of no return. He had to make his choice now. He looked back towards the Greybeard one final time.

"Okay. I'm ready to learn," he told him.

The Greybeard smiled contentedly, as did the men behind him. He could have sworn he also heard Lydia let out a sigh of relief as well.

"We will do our best to help teach you how to use your gifts to fulfill your destiny," said Arngeir.

"And what exactly _is _my destiny?" Archer asked.

"That is not for us to say," said the monk, "because that is for you to discover. We can, however, show you the Way, but not the destination. Now," he added, "the real question remains: Do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path that lay before you?"

"What do you mean by that?" Archer asked.

"Well, without training, you have already taken the first step into projecting your voice into a Thu'um, or a Shout. Now we need to see if you have the ability to learn," Arngeir said. "When you Shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Thus, your Dragon blood gives you the inborn ability to learn Words of Power."

Archer cocked his head slightly in confusion; those growls, those vocalizations, that the dragons made each time right before they used their Fire Breath… that was _language?_

He had little time to dwell on the fact, as Arngeir quickly continued explaining: "Every shout you will learn will contain three words of power. With each word you learn, your Shout becomes progressively stronger in effect," he said. "Master Einarth will now teach you '_Ro_', the second word of power for the Shout you used, Unrelenting Force," he added, motioning to another Greybeard beside him. The grey robed man walked to the center of the room, and stayed put.

"_Ro_ means 'Balance' in the Dragon tongue," Arngeir said, "It will help you focus your Thu'um more sharply when you add the first word, '_Fus'_, meaning 'Force' to it."

Then, Arngeir nodded towards Master Einarth. The other Greybeard faced the floor, bent low, and, very quietly, uttered the word of power: "_Ro_". A small blue shockwave - similar in look to the one that came out of Archer's mouth when he Shouted, but more controlled - flew out of the Greybeard's mouth, and struck against the stone floor. On the stone, several strange symbols appeared to have been engraved onto the stone. The engravings were red-hot, almost like they had been branded onto the stone, instead of simply engraved. Arngeir motioned for him to go forth, and Archer walked up to the Word of Power engraved onto the stone, albeit hesitantly. When he got too close, the words on the stone seemed to glow brighter, and he felt the icy tendrils of the ancient power grasp onto him, shoving the next word into his mind. Once again, the feeling of pure force pervaded his spirit, but this time, it was more in harmony with him, instead of the overwhelming power that he initially felt when he first learned _Fus._

_Ro._

The feeling subsided, and Archer once more felt like he regained control of himself. He turned around, and looked to see Arngeir's pleased expression.

"Amazing. You learn a Word of Power like a master," he said. "Now, while most of us would have to master the Word of Power through constant practice, you can directly absorb a dragon's life force and knowledge directly, being Dragonborn."

"But there aren't really any dragons that I can slay around here, are there?" Archer asked.

"No, there are no Dragons you can slay here," Arngeir said, "and as such, as part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of "_Ro"._ Archer turned once more to the mentioned Greybeard. The old man faced him, then closed both his eyes, and put his hands together, concentrating. Suddenly, the man began to glow in a strange light, and, almost like the aurora of lights that streamed from a Dragon as its soul was absorbed, the knowledge on the Word of Power flowed into Archer, granting him the knowledge he would need to use the Word. The feeling was similar to absorbing the dragon's soul, except much less powerful. The lights ceased to flow, and once more, the room was silent.

"Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um," said Arngeir. Another Greybeard stepped forwards, and readied himself to Shout.

"_Fiik…Lo Sah!" _Shouted the Greybeard. Immediately, a purple rend in the air appeared before the man. When it dissipated, a standing ghost-like entity stood before the spot where the Greybeard had shouted.

"Strike the target with your newly-learned Shout," said Arngeir. "Just say the two words in succession to each other, and they will take effect."

Nodding, Archer faced the target, and took a deep breath, before Shouting: "_Fus, Ro!"_ As the last word left his mouth, a slightly-larger shockwave than normal flew out and went through the Greybeard entity, which quickly disappeared at the force of the Shout's power.

"Impressive," Arngeir remarked, "your Thu'um is precise. You show great potential, Dragonborn."

"Is that all?" Archer asked, surprised at the brevity of his trials.

"Not yet. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard," said Arngeir. As the grey-robed monk walked away, Archer stared at his back.

"You mean out there, in the cold?" Archer asked.

"Yes, indeed," said the Greybeard, before stepping outside into the cold mountain air.

"Come on, it won't be that long," Lydia said from behind.

At her words, he sighed, and reluctantly headed outside to follow Arngeir. He wanted to stay a while next to the braziers, their flames proving to be attractive at the moment, but the Greybeards were already waiting for him outside. He braced himself for the cold as he opened the door. Just as he had predicted, a heavy gust of wind had flown into him as soon as the door had been opened, making him shiver violently. He decided to use even more of his magic on another heating spell to keep himself from shivering out of control. He looked to the sky; night was quickly descending upon Skyrim already. They'd have to travel back down the mountain in the dark; camping out was not an option, as it was much too cold outside for him to bear.

Walking over to Arngeir, the monk began to speak again: "Now we will see how you learn a completely new Shout." He turned to another Greybeard. "Master Borri will teach you _"Wuld"_, which means "Whirlwind." Upon his words, the mentioned Greybeard did the same ritual that the first one had done to teach Archer _Ro._ Once more, Archer gained the knowledge of the word from the engraved floor, and the direct knowledge required to use the Word from the same Greybeard.

"Now we will see how quickly you can master a completely new Shout," Arngeir said.

"What exactly does this new Shout do?" Archer asked him.

"You shall see now," said Arngeir. The Greybeard turned his head, and nodded at one of the others, who walked into place between two small pillars in front of a wrought-iron gate some distance away.

"Master Borri will now demonstrate the Shout," said Arngeir. Standing next to the gate, one of the Greybeards Shouted: _"Bex!"_

Upon the uttering of the word, the gates inexplicably parted themselves, revealing another pillar behind the gate. Quickly, Master Borri Shouted in response: _"Wuld… Nah KEST!"_

The Greybeard became a grey blur as his form flew forwards faster than any mortal could ever do, stopping right at the pillar behind the Gate right before it closed. Archer was left with his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Now it is your turn," said Arngeir. Archer looked at him like he was mad.

"Are you sure that this Shout is _safe?_" he asked.

"Well, it should be," said the Greybeard, "as long as you're facing the opening of the gate, and not anything else that might get in the way. Oh, and try not to stand too close to the gate; you might overshoot the cliffside."

Archer looked at the man with wide eyes, and then back at the gate. Sighing - and then regretting having done so, from the cold mountain air that entered his lungs - Archer walked between the two small pillars, just as the other Greybeard had done. Then, he heard the Shout, and the gate opened for him. Summoning up his courage, he Shouted the word: _"Wuld!"_

With blinding speed, he shot forwards, faster than he could imagine. He didn't even have time to shut his eyes in anticipation before he realized that he had already appeared behind the gate, which promptly closed behind him. He looked down at himself, and found that he was, by most accounts, perfectly fine. Cold, but very much alive. He walked out from behind the gate, and up to Arngeir, who did not even try to hide the look of amazement he had on.

"Your mastery over the Thu'um is… astonishing," said the old man. "I've heard stories of the abilities of the Dragonborn, but to see it for myself…"

"I didn't know it was harder for everyone else," Archer admitted.

"Indeed, others have more difficulty with learning new Shouts than you do," said Arngeir. "Just be careful that your skill does not outstrip your wisdom."

"I'll try," Archer said. "I also hope that I will not have to rely too strongly on this power."

"No, too heavy reliance on one thing is never good," Arngeir agreed. "You are now ready for your last trial," said the Greybeard. Archer listened on intently for the sagacious old man's words, trying to hear him over the sounds of the howling winds.

"I want you to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from his tomb in the ancient temple of Ustengrav. The tomb lies to the Northeast of Morthal, further up north."

"Jurgen Windcaller? Who was that?" Archer asked.

"He was the founder of the Greybeards," Arngeir said. "Be wary, however: his tomb is filled with extremely vile and dangerous creatures, and the road to Ustengrav is very dangerous. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, however, and you shall return. I bid you both good luck."

"Yes, sir," Archer said, turning away.

"Dragonborn, one more thing," said the monk, catching the Argonian's attention. "I just want to tell you this: do not make ill-use of the Thu'um. It is a powerful thing indeed, but if used for the wrong purpose… you would end up like another student we had here several years ago."

"Which student was that?" Archer asked.

"He is the current leader of the Stormcloaks," Arngeir said, "Ulfric Stormcloak studied in High Hrothgar to use the Voice, and now, he's plunged all of Skyrim into conflict from his use of such a sacred art."

"That's right," Lydia said from beside him, "I have heard, though it may not be entirely true, that Ulfric Stormcloak Shouted the High King asunder with the power of the Voice."

"Yes," Arngeir said remorsefully, "and now look at what good it's done; Skyrim is now plunged into a bloody civil war. Take caution, Dragonborn, that you do not make use of your power as that man did."

"Yes, sir" Archer said once more. The Old man smiled.

"Kynareth guide you," he told him. With that, Archer and Lydia quickly made their way back out the Temple, right from where they entered.

"So what now?" Lydia asked.

"Now?" Archer asked. "We get off this mountain before we freeze to death."

"Yes, I know that, but what about after we get off?" Lydia asked.

"I can't make decisions like this instantaneously," Archer said, "I need time to think."

"I'd start heading to Ustengrav as soon as possible," Lydia suggested.

"Didn't you hear what Arngeir said?" Archer asked. "The road to Ustengrav is dangerous, and Ustengrav itself isn't any better. I'm not sure what we'll find there, but I doubt that I can rely on you to keep me safe all the time." This remark gave him a strange look from Lydia.

"What're you saying?" she asked.

"Nothing, just that I need to find a way to become a better fighter If I want to survive-"

Suddenly, Archer heard something very suspicious: the shuffling of something large moving through snow, coming from above. From behind, he heard Lydia utter a warning cry, but he couldn't react in time. The Nord quickly pushed him forwards just in time for a gigantic, furry, white mass to land on the spot where the Argonian had been only moments ago. Lydia was knocked herself from the force of the impact, which had been enough to throw snow all around the surrounding area. As Archer got up, he turned around to face his enemy; however, he never expected to see a gigantic troll in front of him. Frost trolls were large creatures, standing at about 7 feet tall, larger than even the cave trolls they had fought a few days ago. How had he not seen it coming? Trolls weren't exactly stealthy hunters. Its white fur was perfect camouflage for the surrounding snow too; it was probably one of the reasons why he hadn't detected it earlier.

The frost troll turned to Lydia, who was getting up, and roared, advancing upon the vulnerable Nord before she could pull out a weapon. However, before it reached her, an arrow embed itself into its flank, causing it to roar in pain, and face Archer, who was loading another arrow while walking backwards quickly, increasing the distance between them. The creature charged at Archer, faster than the Argonian had anticipated. Letting his next arrow loose, the projectile embed itself into the troll's shoulder. However, the animal didn't even seem to feel the arrow protruding from its shoulder, and instead swung its claw overhead when in range. Archer quickly dove to one side to avoid the overhead claw from smashing him, accidentally landing on his pack. He grimaced as he heard the sounds of glass being broken inside the bag; he had probably crushed his potions. Turning over onto his back, he saw the troll preparing another claw to strike out. Archer got up and ran under its arm, just as the troll's claw smashed into the snow where Archer used to be. Archer continued to run, risking a glance behind him to see the troll give chase. When he turned to look at Lydia, he saw that the Nord was rushing directly towards him and the troll, great sword in hand. Archer dove out of the way just in time to avoid the incoming troll as it came running through, arms outstretched in an attempt to grab the slippery Argonian.

However, instead of stopping, the troll's momentum forced it to continue forwards, until it slammed into Lydia, who had brought her sword up just in time to block the incoming clawed hands from grabbing her instead. Lydia locked her legs into place as the troll's momentum kept her moving backwards, her feet creating scars in the snow as she was pushed. However, the troll's momentum faded, and it began to push downwards on Lydia instead of forwards, forcing her down onto the ground with its superior strength and weight. Lydia struggled to keep herself up, but there could only be one winner in a match of strength between a Nord woman and a Frost Troll. The Frost Troll quickly forced Lydia onto her back against the snowy floor, posed to bite her throat open.

Archer quickly came to her aid, firing another arrow into the beast's back. The creature growled, and Lydia kicked it in the abdominal area, doing surprisingly little to hurt it. However, it was enough to make it step back, and refocus once more on Archer. The troll lunged forwards, and grabbed onto Archer, who was a relatively close distance away, with one of its clawed arms. Archer cried in surprise, and could only look in horror as the troll pulled him close to clamp its jaws around his throat. Archer managed to twist to one direction, just in time for the troll to clamp its jaws onto his left arm arm instead of his collarbone. It was still excruciatingly painful, as Archer cried out in agony at the feeling of having his arm crushed by jaws like a steel trap, refusing to let go of its prey. Snarling, Archer grabbed his sword and plunged it into the troll's stomach, causing it to growl in pain, but it did not let go quite yet. Lydia had finally gotten up again, and did an overhead slash against the troll from behind, cleaving through the beast's tough hide. The frost troll finally let go of Archer's arm. However, faster than she could react, the troll completely spun around, and backhanded her with enough force to throw her against the stone wall beside them.

Grimacing, Archer stood up, his left arm dangling limply at his side, broken. The troll turned around, and ran forwards to lunge at Archer again, but before it could attack, the Argonian had thrust his sword deep into the troll's chest. The animal let out a choked roar, and finally fell silent once Archer thrust his sword through the side of its head. The troll's body slumped backwards onto the snow, its blood staining the white blankets with red. Archer panted heavily from the fatigue, and dropped his sword. He fell to his knees, clutching his left arm in pain. Hissing, he summoned some healing magic in his right hand and began to mend his mauled arm.

However, halfway through the restoration process, the magic stopped flowing into his arm. The mental fatigue that came afterwards notified him that he had completely used up his magical reserves yet again. He knew that using all those heating spells when going up the mountain was a bad idea, but now was when he was paying the price. Growling, he tried again. Still, it was all in vain; he could no longer use his restoration powers to heal himself.

"Damn it," he said. "I've got no more magic. Lydia, do you have any potions?" he asked aloud. He didn't get an answer. He waited for a moment, yet heard nothing. He got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach; something here felt very wrong. He turned around, and saw Lydia's unmoving form lying on her stomach a few feet away, next to the stone wall.

"Lydia? Are you okay?" he asked. Still, he got no answer. The feeling in his gut intensified, and he quickly rushed to her side - or, in his case, staggered, as the pain in his arm was indicative that he had not fully finished healing yet. He crouched over her body, and looked her over.

"Lydia?" he asked, weakly this time. After briefly waiting for an answer, he grabbed her arm, and flipped her over so that she was facing up. Her facial expression was devoid of emotion, but there were remnants of what expression used to be there; her eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and the sides of her mouth were contorted into a near snarl, as if grimacing. However, she made no movement whatsoever, and no sound came out from her. The back of her head, he noticed, was bleeding, the sanguine fluids staining the snow under it red. There was an accompanying bloodstain on the stone wall to mark where her head had hit it. A dreadful realization finally dawned on Archer, almost making him gasp: she was dead.

"Lydia! Oh gods," he said, deeply worried. He put his finger to her neck, looking for her pulse. To his momentary relief, he had found it, but to his dread, it was slow, and weak. If she wasn't dead now, then she would definitely be dead later. Withdrawing his hand, he looked her body over. She was battered and motionless, and her armor was dented badly. He had no more magic, nor any potions to heal her or himself with. She was essentially doomed to death. When this realization came upon him, Archer's spirits dropped considerably. But what could he do? He couldn't heal her, because he had no magic or potions to do it with. He had to accept the fact that she was essentially dead, and he could do nothing to save her. But there must be _something_ he could do, wasn't there? He could try to save her, and bring her down the mountain. He couldn't just leave her here, could he? But what use would taking her down the mountain be? She'd die anyway, if not from her wounds then from the cold, regardless of her natural resistance to it. She'd only be slowing him down, possibly dooming him to his own death on the mountain, if it wasn't guaranteed already. No, there was nothing he could do for her. He had to accept the facts, however much he didn't want to.

Tearing his eyes away from her, he shut them, and got up, grimacing slightly from his own wounds. He stooped down to pick up his bow, and then his sword. He stood up, and his eyes once more locked onto Lydia's prone form. She looked so broken, and beaten… yet he could do nothing for her. Shutting his eyes tight, he turned away from her and began to walk away, leaving her to her fate in the very land she so fiercely loved. _Oh well, at least she will die in her homeland,_ he thought to himself. _But she doesn't deserve to die like this!_ said another part of him. _She's too young to die like this! There might still be a chance to save her!_

_No, she's probably already dead,_ came his mind's answer._ There's nothing you can do for her. And anyways, why would you want to save her? It's not like she likes you, or even appreciates you. Besides, you hate her, don't you?_

_No, I don't hate her._

Archer stopped dead in his tracks where he stood. He wasn't sure where the thought had suddenly come from, but he knew that it was right: he most definitely did _not_ hate her. In fact, he didn't even really dislike her. She may have insulted him, but that was one time, and he'd dismissed that already. He could not let her die out here. He wasn't sure how, or why, but some part of him simply knew that he couldn't let her die, not out here. If she died, it would be on his conscience that he didn't do anything to help her, something that he would feel guilty of for the rest of his life. The least he could do was try. He had to try. Without thinking again, he spun around on the spot, and ran towards Lydia again.

The winds were picking up, carrying snow with them wherever they blew. The effect was strong enough so that Archer could barely see in front of him, even with his powerful eyesight. Regardless, the unmistakable form of the wounded Housecarl could be seen through the perilous wind and cold. He ran towards her quickly, and checked her pulse again; she was still alive, somehow. Maybe she _was_ a woman of steel, if she'd live through this.

"Come on, Lydia, wake up," he said, shaking her. However, she would not come to. Growling, he racked his brain for another way to wake her up, but he could think of none. Getting up, he grabbed onto one of her arms, and began to pull her along. It was ineffective and difficult, but it was all he could manage. He only had one arm to pull her along with, but he did his best to pull her with him. Gods, she was heavy! How can she even move with all that armor on? It didn't matter, he couldn't give up now. His determination helped fuel him as he dragged his unconscious housecarl along. However, in his weakened state, he could not drag along the steel-armored Nord's body through the snow very well. He grunted with the effort, and pulled harder, but he was quickly tiring himself out. He soon felt his strength succumbing to the cold as well, the biting winds draining his energy quickly. With one final heave, he collapsed onto the floor. He tried to stand up, but he quickly fell back down onto the floor. Another attempt to stand up, and Archer could only manage to get into an upright sitting position. An attempt to stand up only resulted in his knees buckling from underneath him, causing him to sink back down onto the cold snow. He hissed in determination, and kept trying to get up, but it was all in vain; he had been drained completely of his energy, magic, and supplies. Now, he was going to die on this gods-forsaken mountain. He could try all he wanted to, but in his heart, he knew there was nothing he could do to save either himself of his housecarl anymore.

Finally giving up after several more attempts, Archer shut his eyes in resentful acceptance of his fate to death. He didn't imagine that he would die so soon, so early on in his journey. He was supposed to be an adventurer, someone who conquered and bested nature, not someone who fell victim to it. Despite the bleakness of his situation, he would not bring himself to cry; he would die strong, not crying. But several thoughts pervaded his mind that made him want to cry. Among them were the thoughts of never being able to adventure again, never having done so many things in his life… and that he could never see his parents again. He couldn't die here, he told himself; if he was going to die, it was _not_ going to be on some mountain. He had to fight death, he thought, but he was just as helpless in his situation as was a sheep in a slaughterhouse, except the sheep had the mercy of not knowing the hour of his death, unlike could do nothing to prevent death now. _But wait_, he thought, _there's one thing that you haven't tried yet._ Hope managed to find its way to him, even through the near-blizzard which currently surrounded him, at the memory of the last resort, the one thing that could possibly save them both.

_The Histskin_.

He may have known little of his culture, but, as he had told Arngeir, he had learned what he knew from a sagacious Argonian who worked in the temple at the Imperial City in Cyrodiil. The Argonian was native-born, and as such, knew of Archer's native culture, and taught him how to be properly pious to his own people's religion. During his time with him, the Argonian had taught Archer about the religious entity that was considered sacred by most Argonians: the Hist, represented by its earthly conduit as the Hist tree. The priest had taught him about the prayers to the Hist, including the sacred prayer that would allow him to invoke the power of the Hist to heal his wounds. However, there were still several problems with using the Histskin: first of all, he hadn't needed the Hist for so long, he had essentially forgotten the appropriate prayer. Aside from that, he wasn't sure if it would work anyways; The Hist loved and cared for all Argonians, but shared its power with those who deserved it. This worried him, for he hadn't prayed to the Hist for a while; would he be deemed worthy of receiving its aid?

On a different note, he wasn't sure if it would work on Lydia either; for one, she wasn't even an Argonian. Secondly, he didn't know how to share his power with someone else; the Argonian priest had told him that the Histskin could be used to heal two people at once, but had given him little insight on how to actually do this. He had told him something about a bond between the two receiving the gift, but whether that bond was supposed to be spiritual or physical, he didn't remember. Archer looked to Lydia's battered form beside him, the Nord who acted as if she were a woman of steel, the person who had sworn to protect him with her life. If his plan worked, then she'd be saved, but she'd most likely be embarrassed at having needed to be saved by him to begin with, given her natural warrior pride. Would it even be worth trying, even if she wasn't grateful at first? The answer was easy for him.

He found her hand, and clasped it tightly in his own, so as to allow the Hist's energy to flow into her from him, hoping that the bond between them had to be physical. It was as cold as death; he needed to work fast. He racked his memory for the prayer, remembering his time in the Imperial City with the priest. Finally coming upon the memory he needed, Archer focused himself, and came up with the verse:

_Oh great, powerful Hist, Mother of all Argonians, people of the Root,_

_Your power is revered by my ancestors and those before me_

_You are kind, loving, and care for all Argonians, bestowing your light upon those who seek it_

_I revere you, as you are the greatest power I know._

As he said the words, he began to feel much better; he was calmer, more lively, and his arm wasn't hurting any more. Scales and flesh began to mend and regrow themselves over the wounds, healing bruises, and fixing his broken arm. He didn't have to look to know that they completely healing themselves, the effect more powerful than that of any mortal-made potion which could ever be concocted; he had faith in the Hist. He could have sworn that he felt Lydia's hand get warmer as well. Regardless, he did not allow the flow of words from his mouth to cease, shutting his eyes to better concentrate on remembering the last few lines:

_Great Hist, with all respect, I call upon you in my time of need_

_For you are the one true mother of all Argonians, who shall only give your blessing to those who are deserving_

_Shower this Argonian and the companion beside him, the one whom he holds close, with your grace, so they may continue their existence on this plane_

_my love and respect for you shall have no limit,_

_and I await your embrace at time's end._

The last line marked the end of the verse of the Histskin, and Archer opened his eyes, a newfound energy burning inside of him. He didn't bother looking at himself, because he felt no pain, and the cold was suddenly very bearable. However, he quickly turned his attention to Lydia. Her hand was, indeed, warmer, and all the cuts and bruises on her body had healed. The back of her head was no longer bleeding either, and she was breathing quite normally. He put his finger to her neck, and was surprised to feel her pulse, still weaker than normal, but regaining strength. She was alive, to his relief, but they still needed to move as quickly as possible; the effects of the Histskin were certainly great and powerful, but even they could not ward off the elements for long. Wasting no time, Archer grabbed Lydia, and picked her up bridal style. Forcing himself to not feel embarrassed at the position he was in, he made sure to start walking down the mountain. Walking back up to High Hrothgar was out of the question, for he wasn't strong enough to carry her all the way back up there, through the steep incline; he would have to walk back down this mountain himself. In her full steel armor, Lydia was heavy, but at full strength, Archer could still carry her. After all, using bows needed good upper-body strength to better control the weapon. If he weren't still in a life-or-death situation, he'd probably be laughing at how he was carrying the person who was sworn to carry _his_ burdens. Oh, the cruel irony of life.

**Remember guys: Review! I always love reading them, and hearing what the people who read this have to say about it. If you have any suggestions, questions, or comments, review! **


	9. Brothers in Arms

**A/N: Sorry about the long update time, guys. The reason is mostly because of classes, but part of it was writer's block. Sometimes, I think I dedicate my time to too many different things outside of FanFiction, too. Well, enough about my problems, I still think I shouldn't have taken about 2 months to update. Again, I'm sorry about the time, but things happen like ****that.**

Hearing was the first sense that returned to Lydia. She heard the sound of wood crackling in a fireplace, a welcoming sound. Then, she began to see shadows dancing from behind her eyelids. Putting two and two together, she finally realized that she was indeed still alive when her tactile senses returned; she felt furs on top of her, and a soft surface under her, probably a bed, which she was currently lying down on. She groaned, and attempted to open her eyes, but she failed. She then tried to sit upright, but a soft hand on her shoulder gently pushed her back down.

"Easy, dear, easy," said the hand's owner. "Don't hurt yourself; sit still now."

Without replying, Lydia obeyed the soft voice, lying back down on the soft, warm mattress, the furs covering her comfortably. After another try, she finally did manage to open her eyes, but was initially met with only a blurry field of view. He squinted, but nothing cleared up. Blinking a few times to clear her vision, she could finally see where she was: inside someone's house. She saw a woman next to her sitting at the side of the bed. By the way she was dressed, which was with relatively simple and cheap clothes, Lydia could guess that she was a farmer. Currently, in her hand was a wet rag, and she was bending over to wipe Lydia's forehead with it.

"We need to make sure you don't catch this fever you've been fighting," said the woman. "So far, you've been doing very well, but fevers can be tricky." It was then that Lydia finally noticed the heat inside of her; her face felt very warm, but not enough to be considered an actual fever. She let the woman dab the damp rag on her forehead, and kept still, regaining energy.

"W-what happened?" Lydia managed to croak out; her sore throat made talking more difficult than it should have been.

"Hush dear, try not to talk so much," said the woman. "It doesn't matter what happened. What matters now is that you're safe."

Lydia went through her mind to see if she could remember the events that had led up to this moment. However, it was much like looking through a picture book in a dark room; she must have gotten hit in the head pretty hard to have forgotten what had happened to her. Eventually, she could recall a few certain events, namely, the inside of High Hrothgar, walking down the mountain, and the encounter with the Frost Troll.

"I… I remember a… a frost troll," Lydia said. "We were… up in the… the mountain-"

"It's fine, dear," said the woman once more. "That's in the past."

"But… where am I?" Lydia asked.

"Why, you're in Ivarstead," said the woman. Lydia's eyes went wide.

"I-Ivarstead? But… how did I get-"

The door to the house was heard opening abruptly from the next room, the sound of wood against wall resonating throughout the house. Footsteps approached the room, and a Nord man, another farmer, by the looks of it, walked into the room, saying, "Dear, are you in he-" He cut himself off when he saw Lydia awake.

"Ah, so you're finally awake," said the man. "That's good; I thought that the fever would've gotten you for sure. I guess I was wrong." He turned to the woman sitting on the bed next to Lydia. "How long has she been awake?" he asked.

The woman put the rag on Lydia's forehead, who was lying on her back silently, before turning to the man. "She's only just woken up," said the woman. "She should be fine, though; she's a strong one, for sure."

"That's good to know," said the man. He walked up to them, and looked Lydia over. "How're you feeling?" he asked her.

Lydia cleared her throat to the best of her abilities, and said, "I-I'm doing just fine."

"Good," said the man, a pleased smile forming. "That was a close call back there; you're probably one of the luckiest people I know, having survived that ordeal."

"What happened? How did I get here?" Lydia asked again, this time hoping to get an actual answer.

"What happened?" asked the Nord man. "Your friend over there, he's what happened to you," he said, turning to look at a spot in the corner of the room. Looking over that direction, it was then that she finally noticed Archer's unmoving form sitting on a chair, a fur blanket draped over him. Her eyes went wide, and she tried to get up, but the combination of the two farmers putting their hands on her shoulders to keep her down and her sore body parts complaining after such a long period of not moving kept her on the bed.

"Calm down, now, calm down," said the man. "Your friend's fine, he's just sleeping now."

"What happened to him?" Lydia asked, but after the words had left her mouth, she had felt a bit afraid to know what the answer would be.

The woman responded, "He saved you. He was the one that took you here."

Lydia's eyebrows went up in utter surprise. _"Him?"_ she asked incredulously. The kind woman nodded softly, her hands now crossing over her lap.

"Aye, that he did," said the Nord man. "Oh, you should have seen him! He looked like he'd been through an icy hell and back, the way he was, but he wouldn't stop. He was like a drugged hunting dog, the way he just kept going and going… I'm more surprised that he's alive than you. I'm pretty sure his kind don't take too kindly to the cold, especially cold like that."

"So he… he carried me all the way down the mountain?" Lydia asked.

"Yeah, pretty much, though I helped him carry you a small part of the way here," said the Nord man. "I was up in the mountain, hoping to visit one of the shrines, but the cold was getting too bad, so I was going to turn back. Then, I heard a sound like thunder, and the trees farther up the mountains shook a bit. I waited to see if it came back, but after a few moments, I passed it off as just a trick of my mind. Then, however, I heard it again, the same thundering sound, the trees shaking once more. I stopped and listened again, but nothing else happened. I ignored it again, and went back to keep walking, if it weren't for the third one: this one was louder, and more powerful, enough to shake the snow off the trees. I finally went to see what was making those sounds. Imagine my surprise when I see him there, barely trudging along, with you in his arms." Lydia, completely stunned, was starting to feel her face get hot, embarrassed at what she was hearing.

"I almost couldn't believe it myself," said the man, seeing Lydia's utterly-surprised expression. "I offered to carry you, but he wouldn't let go until he saw you to safety; I had to carry you down the mountain with him. By the way he looked, he could've been in a blizzard, for all I knew; fortunately, the trip down here wasn't as long. Only when he saw that you were in relative safety did he finally collapse from exhaustion. He dropped like a box of rocks, and didn't wake up until the next day."

Lydia was left silent, processing everything that she had just been told. The whole thing was… unrealistic, at best, not to mention shocking. Her Thane, the Argonian, braved the cold of High Hrothgar to save _her?_ But why? Why would he do this? Why did he even care? She stopped thinking about it when she felt her head begin to hurt; either the fever was coming back, or she was simply thinking too much for her own good in her weakened state. The man turned to the other woman, and said, "Well, I need to finish a few things up outside." said the man. "So I need to be going now. Don't worry, my wife'll take care of you good." Lydia nodded slowly, and the farmers took his leave. Lydia looked back to Archer again, still wondering of his motivation to keep her alive.

"You know, as strange as it seems," said the farmer woman, looking at Archer as well, "It always does warm my heart when I see what the determination from the bond between two lovers can do…"

Lydia almost choked on her own saliva. She quickly waved off the now-worried woman as she regained some of her composure.

"That Argonian... is not my _lover!"_ Lydia said, utterly appalled. The woman looked at her, puzzled.

"But… he just carried you down a mountain, and risked his own life to save you…" she said. Lydia's face got hotter, but she told herself it was the fever coming back. "If you're not lovers, then you two must be very close friends at least, right?" asked the woman.

"No, we're not friends. At least, not exactly…" Lydia answered. She sounded so unsure of herself when she spoke, however, that she didn't even believe herself very much. This was certainly going to change things between them, however much she didn't want it to. She had definitely changed her view on him, at least; if she had any prior doubt of his determination, at least, it was now gone. "We are… comrades, or maybe companions at best. It's a bit complicated, especially now, now that… this happened." Lydia looked away, not wanting to continue this conversation.

"The relationship between you two sounds… well, I'm not going to judge," said the woman. "Now, I need to go help my husband out in the yard, so if you need anything, just yell, okay?" Lydia nodded in clear affirmation. With that said, the woman turned, and left, leaving Lydia alone in the room.

Well, she wasn't exactly completely alone; Archer was in the same room as her. She looked over to him now, inspecting the still Argonian sitting in the chair at the corner of the room. He didn't seem to have a single cut on his body, which was strange to her; she had clearly seen the troll clamp its jaws on Archer's arm. Such a savage attack could very well have torn his arm right off, yet he didn't even bear a scar. Maybe he used a good Restoration magic spell, or a strong healing potion. She noticed that his scales weren't the same mottled green color that she remembered them to be, but instead, they were more of a pine tree-green color, albeit slightly paler due to the effects of the cold which he was probably still warding off. His facial expression gave him a troubled appearance, as if he were worried, even in his sleep. He stirred suddenly, and his eyes lazily blinked a few times, but they closed once more after he heaved a long sigh. Well, at least she knew that he was conscious. She wanted to talk, to talk with him, but she didn't know if interrupting his sleep would be worth it. Maybe she should let him sleep.

She contemplated this for a moment, but she really felt that it was important that she spoke with him; she wanted to know what had happened up in that mountain. She tried to speak, but once more, her sore throat was making it difficult. She cleared her throat silently, and tried again. This time, she finally summoned enough of her voice to speak: "A-Archer?"

It was only one word, which she had just managed to croak out, but his reaction let her know that he had heard. His eyes snapped open, and looked at her. Quickly, he rose from his chair, the blanket falling off of him as he stood up. Thankfully, he had on some trousers, but besides that, he was completely stripped of his armor, which had probably been damaged from the harsh punishment it had received up on the mountain. He briskly walked up to her, and looked her over, almost worriedly. Finally seeming satisfied, he slightly relaxed in front of her.

"You're awake," he said softly, a small smile forming on his face, which she could barely distinguish.

"Yeah, I am," Lydia said, attempting to sit up. At last, she finally managed to sit upright, causing the blankets on top of her to fall off from her body, not realizing that she had no clothes on. Archer's eyes widened, and he quickly turned his head. Blushing, she quickly pulled the blankets over her chest, thankful for Archer's sense of modesty. While her own sense of modesty had been greatly diminished during her time as a guard, there were still some things that she was still not comfortable with doing.

"I'm glad to see that you are not dead," he said, his voice having the wooden tone that one would use when struggling to find something else to say. He then risked a glance behind him. Seeing how the blankets had already been pulled over her again, he turned around to fully face her.

"Are you hurt?" Lydia asked. Archer shook his head.

"I'm fine, really. A bit tired, but I'm just fine," he answered. He was still slightly hunched forwards, probably still feeling the aftereffects of fatigue even now. "How're you doing?"

"Well, I've been through worse," she said.

She remained silent after that, and neither Archer nor Lydia found their voices for a while. It seemed almost as if they had simply forgotten how to speak. There was so much that Lydia wanted to know, and wanted to ask him, but for some reason, which she could not point out, she couldn't bring herself to talk yet.

Finally, Lydia groaned, and propped her head against the wall behind her. "I'm a failure," she said regretfully. "This wouldn't have happened if I had protected you better."

"Oh, that's nonsense, you did a fantastic job at protecting me," Archer said. "Especially when you used your body to distract the troll."

Lydia gave him a hard, cold glare; his attempt at lightening the mood failed. "That's not funny, my Thane…" she said, looking away from him.

"Look, Lydia," Archer began, keeling down so that he could speak with her at relative eye level, "I'm sure you did everything you could to help keep me alive. That wasn't just some animal, that was a troll, and a very big one at that."

"But the duty of a housecarl is to protect their Thane," Lydia said. "I was chosen to be housecarl because I was trusted to keep you safe by the Jarl. I trained and fought almost every day in the guard back in Whiterun, so I had no excuse for being bested by even a frost troll. If I couldn't protect you, then I have ashamed myself."

"You haven't ashamed yourself, Lydia," Archer said. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Yes, but I still almost got you killed!" Lydia said, distraught. "I was knocked unconscious, and then you had to carry me down the mountain yourself! All I did was slow you down, I wasn't any help when I wasn't awake. You could have died trying to save me, you know..." Lydia sighed, and added, "Why did you even bother?"

"Because I wanted to," Archer replied simply.

"But... why?," Lydia said. "You never liked me, and I'm pretty sure you'd wished me gone at one point."

"I almost thought I still hated you," Archer admitted. "But I don't really care anymore what you've said or done to me in the past. I don't _hate_ you anymore, at least, and I couldn't just let you die."

"So… it was guilt then?" she asked.

"Well, in a sense, yes," Archer replied honestly.

She sat silently, but didn't prod him any further on that matter; she wouldn't be surprised if guilt alone was his sole reason for wanting to keep her alive. She knew about guilt all too well, mostly because she had experienced it several times during her time in the guard. However, it wasn't just any sort of guilt that she knew. The kind of guilt she knew was the kind that a soldier feels when they could not save their comrade, the kind that, sometimes, would make you feel guilty of simply still being alive. The guilt that Archer might have felt would be the one where you felt like you could have done something to help, but chose to save yourself instead. Even when you really could have done nothing to help them, the mind and heart would have both argued otherwise; but Archer was, by no means, a soldier. He was, however, still a fighter, and even he had a conscience.

Yes, guilt would have been a decisive factor in his decision to save her, and judging by what length he had apparently gone to help her, so was motivation. However, no matter what determination he had felt, there was simply no way he could have carried her down the mountain fast enough for her to survive; she would have still died if she hadn't been healed in one way or another, and by the way she lacked any distinctly noticeable pains or even scars, she had to guess at how he managed to keep her alive in his trek down the Throat of the World. She looked back up at Archer.

"How did you do it?" she asked curiously. "I don't exactly weigh very little in my armor, and you were weakened just as much as I was."

"I didn't have anymore magic," Archer mumbled. "And I had accidentally crushed my healing potions when I had dove and landed on my pack… I used the Histskin. It's an ability I have, as an Argonian, to heal myself."

"Histskin… how does it work?" Lydia asked him.

Archer scratched the back of his head, and his eyes flitted away from her for a moment, looking nervous for reasons Lydia could not point out. He finally seemed to overcome whatever feeling he had, and spoke: "Well, I called on the power of the Hist. It's the entity that Argonians hold sacred. The Hist… it healed me, but I also used it to heal you. Normally, it's only made to heal the person using it, but it can still be used to heal two people at once, which is what I did. Usually, however, such a thing would be between two Argonians…" he trailed off, failing to further elaborate on the subject. He continued: "Well, the Hist's power is great, but to heal you… the Hist wouldn't be able to heal you with my prayer alone, because you don't worship the Hist, and don't even know the prayer. So for it to work…" Archer once more paused mid-sentence, as if carefully thinking over what he was going to say. He looked at her, and said, "I had to give part of myself to you."

Lydia's eyes rose in surprise. "You… you did?" she said. Archer nodded slowly in affirmation.

"The Hist, while powerful, still needed assistance in order to be able to heal you, so it had to… _borrow_ some of my vitality, and give it to you. It still probably didn't heal as much as it would have if we were both Argonians, but… it did what was intended. That is all that matters."

"Yeah… I guess so," Lydia said, willing the heat in her face to go away as soon as possible. If it wasn't embarrassment from having needed to be saved by her Thane, it was from knowing that her Thane had to give up part of his very being to keep her alive; she could no longer blame her blush on the fever, which seemed to be withering away and disappearing. At least he seemed just as determined to change the subject as she was.

"My Thane…" Lydia said. The Argonian in question looked at her inquisitively. She did not look up to meet his gaze. "You have done too much for me. It shouldn't be this way. I don't -"

"Lydia, enough already," Archer said commandingly. "Don't think of the situation the wrong way. Think of it as a comrade saving another in battle: it was necessary, and purely by my own choice. Nobody is invincible in the field of battle, and it is not uncommon to need to be saved by another person. Don't see it as a stain on your honor either. While I still live, your honor should still remain intact, if I know anything about Nord Honor."

The situation was embarrassing, but his reasoning tone served well to calm her. In truth, she could not deny the fact that she had needed saving, and he had done the most he could have to make sure she lived. If she had had any doubt about him, they had probably disappeared by now. Maybe, just maybe, this Argonian _was_ deserving of her respect. She looked up into his gaze, and held it for a few moments. It was then that she finally noticed how his eyes didn't seem to be the unsightly yellow she remembered, but rather something more akin to gold.

Her eyes briefly went to a spot on the floor, but she finally did speak: "Okay… I guess you're right."

He sighed pleasantly, as if satisfied with her response.

"Good," he said. Archer then yawned tiredly, stretching his arms. "Ugh, I'm still tired… I'm going to go back to sleep," he said.

"Yeah, me too," Lydia said. She was feeling sleep trying to claim her, and she had no intention of resisting. Archer stood up and walked back to the chair in the corner, picking up his blanket off from the floor as he walked by it. He turned, and carefully sat down, making sure not to hurt the chair by suddenly putting all his weight on it. He draped the blankets once more over his chest, and sighed contentedly as he sunk deeper into the chair. Lydia lay back on her bed, and pulled the blankets tighter over her body, getting as much warmth as possible.

"Archer." The Argonian opened his eyes to look at Lydia. After a brief moment of apparent vacillation, she said, "Thank you… for saving me." Then, she saw what she thought she wouldn't ever see: Archer was smiling softly at her. It wasn't a very big smile, but either it was all he could manage or he was just too tired to do any better. Either way, it was there, and it was meant for her.

"You're welcome," Archer said. He then shut his eyes and yawned briefly, before his eyes closed to sleep. Lydia decided to go to sleep as well, and shut her own eyes, intent on recovering as quickly as possible; she hated being bed-ridden.

"Lydia," she heard Archer say. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to regard him this time. He paused for a moment, then said, with an emotionless expression that no other race could possibly master quite like he could, "Is _two_ trolls worth a dragon?"

For the first time since she met him, she smiled genuinely at him.

"Go to sleep, my Thane," she said. Finally showing expression in the form of a satisfied smirk, Archer quietly settled back into his chair. Lydia did the same, and soon enough, she had finally gone to sleep, a small smile still visible on her face.

* * *

"Well sir, I thank you greatly for granting aid to me and my comrade," Archer said, speaking to the farmer that had taken care of him and Lydia during their stay. It had been four days since they had first stayed at the house. Archer and Lydia both agreed that they had had enough time to adequately recover. "I hope that this will be enough to pay for our stay," he said, holding out a pouch containing 100 gold coins, a healthy sum of money in the eyes of any common farmer.

Looking at the bag in Archer's hand, the farmer said, "I'm just glad I was able to help, but I appreciate the gold." Archer handed over the gold coins to the man, who promptly thanked him.

"Well, now that that's been taken care of, we can start going," he said, addressing Lydia. Lydia nodded, and they both began departing from the farmer's home.

The farmer's wife came out of the house, and caught sight of the two of them leaving. Smiling, she waved her arm in the air, and said, "Good-bye! Good luck to you two!" Archer simply turned his head, and waved his arm in return, while Lydia did the same. The two of them made their way out of the town, making their way through the farmers who were taking their supplies to and from their farms, along with the other town's residents. Finally reaching the forest, they continued walking until they lost sight of the small town behind them, leaving them in solitude.

"So where to, my Thane?" Lydia asked.

"I was thinking of going back to Whiterun," said Archer. "We can get supplies, and I can prepare myself to go through with the Arngeir's quest."

"Prepare yourself? How so?" Lydia asked.

"Unless you've already forgotten, we almost just got killed because of a frost troll," said Archer. "My lack of skill with a blade will eventually get me killed, and I'm pretty sure of at least two things: that there are things much more dangerous than a frost troll, and that my mission will not end at Ustengrav, or any time very soon, for that matter."

"So what do you intend to do, stock up on invisibility potions?" Lydia asked. "Or somehow instantly gain skills with a blade? Because either option sounds too time consuming."

"Well, actually," Archer said, "I was thinking of joining the Companions."

"The Companions?" Lydia asked. How in the world did he expect to get accepted into the Companions? Surely, the esteemed fighters would never let an Argonian like him into their ranks, would they? "Why would you want to join them?"

"They could probably teach me how to use my swords better than anyone else," Archer said, "and plus, I think that some of their members are already familiar with me; I saved one of them from being squashed by a Giant on my first trip to Whiterun."

"Learning to use a blade can take a while, my Thane," Lydia responded. "I'm not sure if you'll have enough time. What if the Greybeards- "

"The Greybeards will know that if they ever hope to retrieve their precious artifact, I need to be alive to get it," Archer cut in. "They can afford to wait a while. I won't be able to do anything for anyone if I can't fight for myself, can I?"

"I suppose…" Lydia said.

They continued to walk along the path, not finding any trouble along the way. Lydia focused on the sounds of the wilderness around them, taking the time to relax somewhat. _Archer was right,_ she thought, _just listening to the wilderness can be… calming._ A break from caution was exactly what she needed now, and it was a luxury that she would normally not have much time for. Given that they were pretty much safe for now, she could allow herself to drop her guard just a little bit. She allowed her mind to wander, and eventually started thinking about her Thane. She had completely prejudiced him the whole time they'd been together, rather unjustly at that, and had proven himself to be much different that she first thought. That thought led her to think, how much of what she knew… what she _thought_ she knew… was actually _true?_ She could ask him, couldn't she?

Here she hesitated, not quite knowing how to word her question; she didn't want to offend him by accidentally saying things the wrong way. In fact, she thought, he might be insulted by the questions themselves. Should she ask him, or just let the thought go? Her curiosity once more got the better of her.

"My Thane?" she asked.

"Yes?"

Hesitantly, she asked, "How much of… what I've been told about Argonians is actually true?"

The question caused her to receive a questioning look from Archer in return.

"Well… I remember you said we didn't have emotion, or something along those lines," Archer said. Lydia nodded.

"But that's not true, I can tell," she said.

"That was the first thing… what were the other things you said?" Archer asked.

Lydia looked aside a bit uncomfortably, and said, "Argonians don't trust outsiders."

"That depends on the Argonian," Archer said. "Just like some Nords or Imperials don't naturally trust some people, some Argonians are more open to trusting people than others. That's one fact that doesn't change across racial borders."

"Right," Lydia said. "And also… I was told that Argonians worship tree-"

"My kind does _not_ worship any _tree_," Archer said, somewhat offended. "What we worship is the Hist, whose earthly conduit to us is the Hist Tree. We deeply _respect_ the Hist Tree, but we _worship_ the Hist."

"Well I'm sorry, I didn't know that," Lydia said.

Archer quickly calmed down, and said, "I'm sorry, I just… I try to be a defender of my people… but sometimes I don't think I do a very good job of it," he admitted.

"It's fine," Lydia said, "I'm just thinking how unintelligent it was of me to actually have believed those things without question."

There was a brief silence.

"Anything else you want to know?" Archer asked.

"Well, there is _one _more thing…" Lydia said. "If you don't mind, it's more of a… question about… well, you."

"Um…" Archer said, seemingly reluctant to share some more of his own history. "Well… alright. What do you want to know?"

"I was just thinking… did you ever really know your real parents?"

Archer's face then became somber, as if a dark cloud passed over his face that moment. Lydia worried slightly that she might have managed to offend him again. However, he finally spoke: "What I told Arngeir up in High Hrothgar, in the Throat of the World, was… well, _mostly _true. I never sincerely knew my parents, or, at least, I was too young to remember them well. I usually can't tell the difference between what I think is a memory of my parents, and what is actually just a dream, or my imagination. The only part that I stretched the truth on a bit was the place of my birth: I never really knew my parents, but I _was_ actually born in Black Marsh."

"Then why didn't you say so?" Lydia asked.

Archer shrugged. "I grew up most of my life in Cyrodiil, it's basically all I remember of my childhood and part of my adulthood. I don't consider myself a native-born from Black Marsh because I can't really remember anything from my childhood there, and I think I never will." He then sighed sadly, as if the thought of never being able to remember his life in Black Marsh was a sad thought for him. "I should probably visit Black Marsh one day, come to think of it. Maybe I'll remember something."

Lydia considered his situation for a moment, and felt sorry for him. Their lives were hard to compare, but she could still feel sympathy for his challenges. She couldn't imagine how it would be like to never have known her own real parents, much less being adopted by people completely unlike her.

"Hold it right there," commanded an unidentified voice.

Both Archer's and Lydia's heads whipped around in the general direction of the voice, which was behind them. Surely enough, a burly Nord man standing on the road several yards away could easily be seen. He wore a random assortment of animal furs around his body, which barely covered most of his torso, and a steel great sword was attached to his back. By the looks of him, this man was quite obviously a bandit, maybe even a highwayman. Archer and Lydia quickly pulled out their weapons, Lydia holding her steel sword and shield - her Orcish great sword had been lost in the snows of High Hrothgar - and Archer quickly whipping out his bow. The highwayman seemed undaunted at the sight of the two of them, with their weapons pointed at him. Slowly and surely, the man reached behind him and grabbed the great sword on his back. He cleanly pulled the weapon out of its holster, the grey steel glinting in the mid-morning light. The bandit held the sword into a ready position, and stood his ground, unmoving.

"I don't want to make this messy," said the highwayman, passing a scrutinizing glare over the two, "so just hand over you gold, and I might decide to let you live." Lydia and Archer looked at each other, then back to the lone bandit. There was two of them, and only one of him, and he had only a great sword to fight them with. While an imposing weapon, its weight and size would slow him down considerably; either Archer could shoot him before he took two steps, or Lydia could get past the weapon and attack him from up close, at an unsuitable distance to effectively wield a great sword. Either way, bandits typically weren't very good at fighting anyways. This bandit would pose them no threat.

"You're kidding, right?" Archer said. "Unless you're as stupid as any other bandit, the odds are clearly not in your favor. How's about _you_ leave, and maybe _we'll_ let you live." He pulled back a bit on the bowstring to emphasize his point.

The man, however, proving to be either fearless or just plain stupid, simply smiled at the two; his yellowing teeth could be seen even from where they stood. "Is that how it's gonna be?" he said. "Then I guess things will have to turn messy." Without speaking any further, the underbrush suddenly began to shake, and about five more bandits formed up behind the highwayman. They all wore furs or a mix of battered armor, and wielded either steel or iron weapons, while two of them held longbows.

Archer looked with widened eyes at the six bandits in front of them. While the bandits had lower quality weapons and armor than they did, there were simply too many of them to fight off successfully. While slightly worried, he suppressed his worry as best as he could, and began to weigh his options. He might be able to take down one, maybe two, with his bow, before they got close enough, but what then? Even Lydia wouldn't be able to fend off too many attackers at once for very long, and she wouldn't be able to rely on him very much to come to his aid, regardless of his Voice. Running would be useless; the longbows they carried would easily be able to strike them down from a very long distance, if their wielders could shoot well.

"As you can see, the odds are not in _your_ favor here," said the bandit highwayman, "so why don't you just hand over your coin, before we tear you to pieces?"

Archer simply snarled at the man in disgust, but kept his bow drawn. Lydia somehow managed to maintain her professional attitude, completely masking any and all worry or fear she may have been feeling. Archer's powerful hearing caught the very faint sound of hoofbeats in the distance, coming from the woods. He ignored it, passing it off as a deer, focusing on the bandits in front of them; even the slightest distraction could kill. However, as the sound got closer - it was getting closer rather quickly - Archer noticed that the sound of the hoofbeats were simply not like those of a deer. A deer made very little noise as it traversed the underbrush; these hoofbeats could easily be heard, and the frequent rustling sound of the bushes suggested that it was an animal with no care for staying hidden. The sounds were getting even closer, and it seemed that even the bandits and Lydia could hear it now.

Archer risked a glance to the side, just in time to catch sight of a brown horse bursting out of the trees. The rider on the horse's back, almost an indistinguishable blur, had a black sword in his raised arm. The man swung his sword down just as his horse passed by the bandits. A squelch sounded, and when the horse was out of the way, the bandit who originally held the great sword was clutching his arm in agony. It had almost been entirely chopped off, and flames were also licking at the man's wound, indicative of the sword's enchantment.

Not wasting his opportunity, Archer sent an arrow into the man's chest, where he hoped that he had hit his heart. The man fell back, while the other bandits, caught completely off-guard, were too shocked to know what had just happened, and hesitated in attacking. Taking her turn, Lydia rushed towards the nearest bandit and thrust her sword through the man's stomach. Twisting the blade before pulling it out, Lydia focused her attention on the other bandits, finally realizing that they were supposed to be fighting back. Two bandits rushed at Lydia, and another two towards Archer. However, a firebolt flew through the air and struck one of the bandits in his plate armor, creating a black scorch mark on the iron, and catching the attention of the bandits. The iron plate-clad bandit raised his mace, and uttered a war-cry, before rushing towards the mysterious rider, along with another bandit who had originally been fighting Lydia. The rider, upon seeing the two rushing bandits, lifted one hand, crackling with a powerful lightning spell; there was little chance of missing now. The rider's surprisingly powerful chain lightning attack flew straight at one bandit, and then hit the other one, reducing both bandits to writhing, charred bodies on the forest floor.

Meanwhile, Archer had to focus on the bandit who had gotten too close to him for his bow to be effective. Putting his bow away, Archer quickly pulled out his Imperial shortsword, avoiding a swing from the bandit's sword as he did so. He raised his sword to block, then went for his own attack, which was avoided by the bandit. Archer continued to swing, but the bandit was quick, quicker than Archer could swing his sword to hit him. Growling in frustration, Archer pulled out his other weapon, the frost-enchanted war axe that he had looted off the powerful draugr he fought in Bleak Falls Barrow, and held it in his left hand. He figured that if using two weapons had kept him alive in the Barrow, it should work on a simple bandit.

The bandit swung again, and Archer avoided it, retaliating with a left-hand swing. However, when the bandit jumped to one side to avoid it, Archer's sword was swinging to meet him from the other direction. The bandit cried in pain as Archer's sword sunk into his flank, but not deep enough to be fatal. Archer swung his sword again, which the bandit blocked, before swinging his own sword. Archer, however, anticipated his attack, and ducked under the wild swing, causing the attack to fail to connect. The bandit swung his sword overhead, but Archer sent his war axe into the man's neck. The axe sunk deep into the bandit's neck, deeper than his sword would have as a result of having a heavier blade head. The bandit grunted in pain, and Archer dislodged his weapon from the man's neck, before finishing him off with a sword slash to the throat.

Turning his attention back to the fight, there was now only one bandit left, fighting Lydia. The bandit went in for a low strike, but Lydia hopped sideways to avoid it, sending a thrust at the man's direction after she regained her footing. A Sparks spell flew at the man, before abruptly ceasing. The lightning had immobilized the man temporarily, just long enough for Lydia to send her sword through the bandit's chest. The man let out a choked gasp, before his mouth started to pool with blood. Lydia pushed the dying man off her sword before any of his blood got the chance to soil her armor.

Archer looking over the scene; six bodies now lay still on the floor, bleeding. However, one of them was still writhing on the floor in pain. It was the first bandit, who had not been killed by Archer's arrow; the projectile had penetrated the man's chest almost straight through, with half the arrow sticking out, but it had not hit the man's heart, as was originally intended. Archer walked up to the man, and looked him over. He was in pain, bleeding, and not dead, at least, not yet. Archer raised his sword to finish him off.

"Bastard…" the man managed to spit out, before Archer hacked his sword into the man's throat, silencing him forever. Archer grimaced at the sight of yet more blood, and quickly yanked his sword out; it was gruesome work, but it had to be done. It was better than leaving him to die slowly and painfully, he guessed; whenever he hunted, Archer made sure to make a clean kill, to make sure that any death he caused was quick and painless.

"Why didn't you hit his heart?" Lydia asked. "Would've saved you the trouble of having to finish him off personally."

"I wasn't sure where his heart was, I don't tend to hunt people very often," Archer said.

"Then it'd be best to learn soon," said the mysterious rider, who had somehow appeared next to Lydia without him noticing. "From personal experience, I know that there's very little that can be more dangerous than an archer who knows where to aim for."

Now that he was standing still, and not a blur on top of a horse, Archer was able to see what this man looked like. He was a Dark Elf, with pale blue skin and crimson eyes. Ring-mail armor protected his body, and a gleaming ebony sword was sheathed at his hip. He had no other visible weapons on him, but given his being adept at the use of magic, he most likely wouldn't need one. His crossed arms suggested impatience, possibly even arrogance. Archer would've made a retort, but something stopped him. He took a closer look at the elf, thinking deeply. Archer didn't yet know how, or why - but he felt that it was as if he should know this man…

When the realization hit him, a surprised expression split Archer's features.

"Balamus? Is that you?" he asked.

The dark elf raised an eyebrow at the Argonian, but then his own facial expression mimicked the Argonian's for surprise.

"Archer?" asked the Dark Elf. Archer nodded eagerly, and now, both of their facial expressions completely mimicked each other's, for both surprise and happiness. "Archer! It _is_ you!" said Balamus. He put his hand forwards, and Archer grabbed it tightly, giving him a firm handshake, all the while grinning.

"It's been too long, my friend!" Balamus said.

"Likewise," said Archer. Balamus had been Archer's friend for many years. They had often gone adventuring together back in Cyrodiil, when they had been younger. It surprised Archer how little his good friend seemed to have changed since they last saw each other, when he had left to work for the Imperial Legion.

"How did you find us here?" Archer asked.

"I was walking by, and I heard you all talking," said Balamus. Archer had almost forgotten that elves had good hearing.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you were nearby to help, I don't think I would've lasted long without you."

"I'm glad I was here before they could get you."

"How have you been these years?"

"I've been doing rather well these few years, actually," said Balamus. "Life in the Legion wasn't really suited to me, I found out. I finally left some weeks ago, and began working as a sellsword, a successful one at that. When you're an expert at magic, you tend to find many uses for your talent."

"Really? So you're an _expert_ at Destruction magic now?" Archer asked, an Argonian-style smirk forming.

"And Alteration magic too," added the Dunmer.

"Archer, do you know this _mer_?" Lydia finally asked . Archer looked to Lydia, then back to his friend.

"Oh, Lydia, this is my friend, Balamus," Archer explained, motioning to the Dark Elf beside him. Lydia looked between the two of them, genuinely surprised. They knew each other? What's more, they were _friends?_ She had always thought that Argonians and Dark Elves shared a deep-rooted dislike for each other. It wasn't uncommon knowledge that Dark Elves and Argonians tended not to like each other because the Dunmer had preferred to use Argonians as slaves in earlier history. While it was long ago in ancient history since Argonians had been widely used as slaves to the Dunmer, some people had a hard time letting the events in history go. As it seemed, the friendship between these two dictated otherwise. The Dark Elf now stepped up to Lydia.

"And who might you be, m'lady?" he asked.

"Oh, she's my housecarl," said Archer. Balamus gave him a blank stare in response. "She's my bodyguard," Archer explained.

"You hired yourself a bodyguard?" asked Balamus.

"No, I didn't," Archer said. "She was sworn into my service when I became Thane of Whiterun." That line obviously struck a chord in Balamus as his face showed surprise.

"You're a Thane?" asked Balamus, surprised. "How in Oblivion did you become a Thane?"

"Well, I would've preferred staying an adventurer," Archer replied, "but unfortunately, I didn't exactly have much choice in the matter."

"You sound like you don't like your title. I'd be killing to have the stature you've got, you lucky bastard," Balamus said, arms crossing, but retaining an interested expression.

"Well, there's no need to be envious," Archer said. "There's not really much to being a Thane."

"What are you talking about, of course there's much to being a Thane!" Lydia interjected. "Thane is not just a title, it's an honor here in Skyrim. You've been recognized as a hero, someone who helped Whiterun in its time of need. It is not a title to be taken lightly. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here with you, having to guard you with my life."

"A hero, huh?" Balamus said. "What did you do, kill a band of rogue bandits?"

"Yeah, I wish," said Archer. "I had to kill a Dragon."

Balamus was silent for a moment, staring at him. "A dragon? Surely, you jest," he said.

"I wish I was," Archer said. "I almost got myself killed in doing so, but I'm the one who landed the killing blow, at least."

"If what you say is true," Balamus said, uncrossing his arms, "and Dragons are back now, then how on earth did you manage to kill it?"

"I sent a sword right through its eye."

"I don't believe _that_."

"Believe what you want, the point is, Dragons are in fact coming back, and they won't hesitate to attack the nearest town or city," Archer said.

"And that also means that traveling alone out here is that much dangerous," Lydia added. "To ensure my Thane's survival, I have sworn my sword to his cause, and hopefully, we can help end this dragon threat. "

"Lydia, just because I'm Dragonborn doesn't mean we'll be actively searching out for Dragons to slay," Archer stated. He caught Balamus looking at him strangely.

"Dragonborn?" asked the Dunmer. "What are you talking about?"

Archer shut his eyes, as if realizing what he had just said out loud.

"When I killed the first dragon," Archer said, "I absorbed some strange power from it: its soul, apparently. I use those souls to empower myself, so that I can use a power called the Voice, which is how the Dragons can do things like breathe fire."

"…the Voice?"

Archer, evidently not feeling like explaining the entire concept of The Voice, turned on the spot, away from the two of them, and Shouted the first word of Unrelenting Force: _"Fus!"_ The resulting blue shockwave flew towards the sky, shaking the leaves off of trees, and stirring up the birds on their branches, before dissipating at a distance. Turning, he saw Balamus standing there, slack-jawed and utterly amazed.

"That's nothing like I've ever seen!" Balamus finally stated after recovering from the initial shock.

"That's the Voice," Archer said.

"That's much more powerful than any Destruction spell I know of," stated the Dunmer. "So you can use this power because you are Dragonborn?"

"That's pretty much right," Archer replied. "Though I still don't like it very much. This power's caused me more trouble than I'd like."

"But it saved lives, if I recall correctly," Lydia cut in. It was all too true that were it not for Archer's Voice, there were several instances where they would have both possibly died; the dragon they had fought a few days ago could have gotten an upper hand on them, or maybe the farmer would never have heard Archer's cries for help over the howling winds of the snowstorm, cutting both of their lives to an abrupt end.

Lydia still wondered why it was that Archer didn't fully appreciate his powers; surely anybody else would have felt truly blessed to have them by now. He was certainly an interesting person, that she was sure of.

"If we are to go through with your plans, it would be best to start as soon as possible," she added, reminding them of the journey they had yet to complete.

Archer thought for a moment, and then turned to Balamus. "Balamus, we could use an extra sword, so how would you like to come with us?"

Balamus' face showed some surprise, but a pleasant one at that. "Really? You want me to travel with you?"

"Why not?" Archer said with his reptilian grin, remembering the fun adventures the two of them went on when they had the time or motivation for it.

"Archer, are you serious?" asked Lydia. "We can't have anybody slowing us down, we need to move as quickly as possible."

"There's no harm in a few extra hands," Archer said. "Besides, he's very good at using magic and much better at using a sword than I am as well."

"Don't worry, I'll handle this," assured the elf, speaking to Archer. Slowly walking towards Lydia, Balamus said, "You don't have to worry about me, I won't be any trouble to you. In fact, I think _you_ might find my company…_enjoyable_." Balamus was standing right in front of Lydia, smiling suggestively at the Nord woman, who remained rooted to the spot, expressionless.

"Step away from me right now if you don't want my foot up your ass," Lydia said calmly, with an underlying threatening tone. The elf quickly backed down, and Archer shook his head in amusement at his friend. Still the same old Balamus.

"Archer, must he come along?" Lydia asked. She did not want to be traveling with someone she didn't know, especially if that person was… someone like _him_, thinking all women could be dealt with by charm.

"If he wants to, he can come," Archer said. He turned to Balamus. "Are you up for it?" he asked.

Balamus smiled, and said, "I'm always ready for anything, just like always." He whistled, and his horse - which was obviously not Skyrim-born, given the animal's build, which was lankier and sleeker, bred for speed rather than strength - came trotting alongside the dark elf. Balamus got ahold of his horse's bridle, and gave Archer a thumbs-up.

"Perfect. Let's go," said Archer, turning to walk.

"Oh boy…" Lydia said, unenthusiastic about having this pretentious Dunmer journey with them.

"So where are we off to?" Balamus inquired.

"To Whiterun," Archer said, his eyes focused on the now-visible western horizon. "It's not too far from here, but don't worry about getting bored; I'm pretty sure our journey will not end right there."

In truth, Archer had a gut feeling that even after getting into the Companions, and getting the Horn of Ustengrav to deliver to the Greybeards, there would probably be even more to his journey. Nobody ever knew what the future held, but Archer could guess. In truth, his journey was starting to feel almost like one of those adventurous romances he had read in his youth. Well, at least, he felt like the heroes in them would, given his similar situation; a young adventurer sets off on a journey with his comrades, not knowing what the future holds for him, but ever hoping for good fortune. However, no journey was without its share of hardships, and Archer believed that his story would end out no differently, at least in that aspect. Well, only time can tell, he guessed.

* * *

"So this Whiterun? Looks like a rather nice place." said Balamus. "I wonder who lives in that big fort up there?" he asked, pointing at Dragonsreach.

"The Jarl of Whiterun resides there," said Archer. "Jarls are much like the Counts and Countesses back in Cyrodiil," he explained.

"I know what Jarls are, I've done some research on Skyrim," said Balamus. "It helps to know about the province you're going into before actually entering, it makes things much simpler," said the Dunmer.

"Yes, I can imagine," said Archer.

"So, where can we find this lot we're looking for?" Balamus asked.

"I… I don't think I remember anymore," Archer admitted. "I think I may have written it in my journal at some point-"

"The Companions are located in Jorrvaskr, the Mead Hall at the foot of Dragonsreach," Lydia stated.

"So then that means it's this way," Archer said, making his way towards where he assumed was the mead hall. His assumption proved correct, and soon enough, a large wooden structure was seen to their right upon entering the Wind District Plaza. It looked much different from the other buildings he had seen around here. In fact, the roof of the building closely resembled the hull of a ship, if he were to make any comparison.

"So, I assume we just walk in, then?" asked Balamus.

"I guess we'll find out once we're inside," Archer said hopefully, making his way towards the door. Pushing the wooden door forwards, Archer was confronted with a large table, the mead hall, and a large fire pit in front of it, both of which dominated the floor. There was not much more of the interior that he could take notice of before his attention was drawn to a commotion at one end of the hall, a brawl. There were people crowding all around an undefined area surrounding the two contenders in the brawl, one a male Dunmer, and the other, a Nordic woman.

"Who taught you how to fight?" asked the Nordic woman, throwing another punch towards the Dunmer. Balamus and Lydia stepped in, and immediately their attention was also focused on the fight.

"Such barbarous behavior would only be found back in Cyrodii if you went into a tavern," Balamus remarked, "I guess I know now why Bruma's taverns always look like a minotaur took a visit, with all their Nordic patrons." He got a warning glare from Lydia, to which he quickly added, "Although I'm sure they're nothing like you, dear."

"Yeah, keep that up, I might fall for it one day," she said sarcastically. Oblivion would probably freeze over sooner than she'd fall for his attempts at charm. Meanwhile, Archer was trying to gain audience with some of the people inside the room.

"Excuse me," Archer said to one man, "I was wondering where-"

"I didn't think you'd actually show up," said a vaguely familiar voice beside Archer. Turning, the Argonian recognized the bronze-haired Nord as the archer woman he had met on his first visit to Whiterun.

"I thought we were just a band of mercenaries to you," said Aela, recalling what Archer had said when they first spoke.

"Whether it is or not, I've come seeking to join," Archer said. "And my friend as well," he added, motioning to the two people behind him. Aela looked behind Archer to see the two people behind him.

"Are you referring to the elf or her?" Aela asked.

"Allow me to introduce myself," Balamus said with an air of grandeur. "I'm Balamus: I'm a strong battlemage, an expert enchanter… but enough about me, who might you be, milady?" he said.

Aela humphed, and crossed her arms. "We don't accept any milk-drinker who stumbles in here," she said, her disdain for mages apparent.

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about me, I can handle myself quite well."

"Really? The last mage who came in here said the same exact thing. He got sent into the skies by a Giant's club a few days later." Balamus seemed shocked, but said nothing.

"Look, if you really think you've got what it takes, go speak with Kodlak Whitemane. He'll see if you're worthy of joining the Companions." Aela then turned to look away from them, and back at the brawl.

"Come on, let's find this man," Archer said. They carefully made their way around the ensuing brawl, which the Nord woman seemed to be winning, and made their way down the steps into the living quarters. The three walked down the halls, decorated with trophies of victorious battles and deeds. After a while, they encountered an old woman, and Archer asked her where they could find Kodlak Whitemane.

"Why, he's down at the end of this hall," said the elderly woman, pointing down the hall. Archer thanked her, and made his way over.

With a head still full of now-white hair, there was little wonder in where Kodlak Whitemane got his name. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was sitting on a chair at a table, next to another, younger-looking man. The white-haired man was speaking with the young Nord man seated in the chair beside him, evidently having not yet noticed the presence of the three people in the hallway.

"…But I still hear the call of the blood," said the younger man, looking at the older man beside him.

"We all do," said the older man, "but it is our burden to bear. We can overcome it."

"You have my brother and I… but I don't think the rest will go along-" It was then that the younger man noticed Archer walking towards the two of them, and quickly stopped speaking. The old man turned his own head as well, and both regarded the Argonian standing in front of them.

"A stranger enters our hall," Kodlak said. The old man had the eyes of someone who'd seen much, who'd done much in their lives, but still had the heart of a fighter, a warrior. Even Archer could see that this man was more than he let on. He was no mere old man.

"My name is Archer," said Archer, "and this is my comrade, Balamus."

"Well met, both of you," said the old man. "My name is Kodlak Whitemane. Now, why is it that you've come to me?" Out of the corner of his eye, Archer could see the steel-colored eyes of the other Nord glaring at him. Whether it was out of curiosity or disgust, Archer couldn't tell; the Nord refused to let any signs of real emotion show.

Archer stood up straighter, steeled himself, and said, "We wish to join the Companions."

The steel-eyed nord's glare intensified, but still he said nothing. Kodlak, however calmly answered: "Really? Well, let me have a look at the two of you." Balamus came up next to Archer, looking so self-assured of himself, and the old man inspected the two of them, starting with Balamus.

"Hmm, I definitely feel a mage's intellect about you, as well as a warrior's vitality," said Kodlak. Balamus grinned with pride. "But I also feel a good deal of pride, or arrogance, even, too." Balamus' grin now faded. "You're not perfect, but, then again, nobody is. You'd still make a good warrior," Kodlak concluded.

Balamus smirked, as if he had expected being of worthy Companion material. Kodlak now turned to Archer. The man's gaze was more powerful than that of the other Nord beside him, but it was warmer, more open to him. He looked at Archer, but it also felt as if the old man was looking past Archer's features, past his appearance, and into his very soul. The air was tense for a moment, making time seem to slow down, despite Kodlak's inspection being very brief.

"Hm…I feel a certain strength of spirit," Kodlak concluded.

"Master, you're not truly considering accepting him?" asked the younger man, not taking any care to mask his evident surprise. Obviously, this man must not like Argonians, or just doesn't see him as competent, Archer thought. Regardless of the reason, he was visibly surprised to hear Kodlak give consideration to letting Archer join. Kodlak turned to the young man.

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas," said Kodlak. _So Vilkas is his name, then._ "And last I checked, there were a few empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with passion for our trade."

Vilkas backed down, and said, "Apologies." His eyes averted Kodlak's, and he looked down. "It's just… perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of either of these two."

"I would've thought that my reputation preceded me," Balamus quietly mused. Archer nudged him to stay quiet.

"It does not matter whether those who come to us are famous or not. Sometimes, those seeking fame come to us, and that is quite alright," Kodlak said. "What matters is their heart."

"And their sword arm," said Vilkas. He turned to look at Archer, and said, "Let me guess: you're better with a bow than your sword, aren't you?"

Archer glared back at the man, who was sitting back, as if waiting for an answer that he expected. The Argonian looked at Vilkas, resisting the temptation to bare his sharp teeth at the man. He then back to Kodlak, who was quietly inspecting him. Finally, Archer sighed.

"I knew it," said Vilkas, "he comes to us seeking who-knows what, yet he can't even-"

"Vilkas…" Kodlak chided, prompting Vilkas to quickly shut up. He turned to Archer now.

"How good _are_ you with a sword?" asked the old man.

"I've still much to learn," Archer admitted.

"That's the spirit. Now, what about your friend back there?" asked Kodlak. Archer looked back, and saw Lydia still standing there.

"Oh, I'm not here to become a Companion," Lydia said, "I'm his housecarl." She pointed at Archer, prompting Vilkas' eyebrows to raise in surprise; evidently, he had never been told that Whiterun's new Thane was an Argonian. Kodlak, however, kept any surprise he had to himself.

"All right, then. Let's take care of the real business. Vilkas, you'll be taking these two young men out to the training yard, and see how they perform."

"Aye…" Vilkas nodded in affirmation. He got up from his seat and led the three of them out to the training courtyard, passing by the main hall where the brawl had been taking place earlier. All three of them stepped out of the building, and were confronted with a small dining area, and right next to it, a medium-sized training courtyard, large enough to host a couple of sparring matches at a time, or to have several people training at once, but not much more than that. There were a few stuffed combat dummies, equipped with all sorts of wooden weapons and "equipment", and a few archery targets placed at the far wall.

Vilkas, Archer, and Balamus stepped out into the sunlight, both adventurers waiting for the Companion to inspect them.

"Alright, the old man told me to have a look at you, so let's do this. You, Dunmer," said Vilkas, looking at Balamus. "You're first."

With his typical smirk of self-assuredness, Balamus stepped closer to the Nord man, while Archer stepped back to give them some room.

"Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form," said Vilkas.

Balamus drew his ebony sword, the black blade gleaming in the sunlight, and prepared for an attack. Vilkas simply brought his shield up in anticipation. Balamus ran forwards and feigned right, before swinging his sword low, aimed at the Nord's legs. Vilkas blocked the blow easily, and remained in a defensive position. Balamus charged forwards again, and struck Vilkas' shield with enough force to force the Nord to take a step back. Vilkas pushed the Dunmer back, just in time to block an overhead cleave.

"Alright, alright, that's enough," said Vilkas. The Dunmer stepped back, and sheathed his weapon.

"Alright, I guess you'll do," said Vilkas. "You. Lizard. You're next."

Archer narrowed his eyes at being called a lizard, but he did not make any aggressive moves to him. It would only make him look bad. Stepping forth, the Nord scrutinized Archer as he got closer.

"Pull out your sword, and we'll have a go," said Vilkas.

Without a word spoken, Archer's sword was unsheathed, and, almost as an afterthought, he pulled out his axe in his left hand. Vlikas then brought his shield up in a defensive position as before, waiting for Archer to make his move. Archer got into a position where he could bolt to any direction should he need to, but did not move. None of them moved.

"Well? What are you waiting for? For Oblivion to freeze over?" Vilkas said. "Make your move."

Snarling, Archer lunged forwards, striking Vilkas' shield with his sword, then quickly following up with his axe in his left hand. Both blows were blocked, and Archer was shoved back. Archer stepped back, before running toward the Nord's side in an attempt to get behind his shield. Vilkas, however, was quick, and blocked Archer's sword as it passed by. Archer and Vilkas had now switched places, with Vilkas' back towards Lyda and Balamus, and Archer facing all three of them.

Archer went for another attack, swinging his sword overhead. However, instead of letting the shield block it, Vilkas parried the weapon with his sword, before swinging his shield at the Argonian's head. Archer, not caught completely off-guard, ducked low to avoid the attack, and swung his axe just in time to deflect the sword that came after it. Archer jumped back to avoid the attack that followed up almost instantly. This man was no longer simply blocking, as he had done with Balamus, but was now taking the offensive, and he wasn't going easy, either. Now, other Companions were coming to see their fight, to see how Vilkas would beat this newcomer. Surely, he would not lose to this Argonian, so naturally, the bets were against Archer, not that he had time to focus on such a trivial matter at the moment.

Vilkas came forwards and deflected Archer's sword, before bashing his shield into the Argonian's chest. Archer grunted, and stepped back, leaving himself open to attack. Vilkas thrust forwards, but Archer stepped to one side to avoid it, and used his weapon to push Vilkas' sword away. Archer swung his axe to catch the man in the side by surprise, but it did not work. Vilkas stopped the axe with his sword, then quickly managed to throw the weapon out of Archer's grasp just as he was pulling it back. The axe went flying several feet away, out of reach. Archer readjusted his grip on his right hand's weapon, and slashed sideways. Vilkas blocked the blow with his shield, and ran forwards to bash Archer. This time, he knocked the Argonian right off his feet, and sent him to the floor on his back. Archer accidentally let go of his weapon, the sword clattering on the stone floor beside him. He had no time to grab it as Vilkas came charging again. Archer rolled backwards, and he swiftly got back onto his feet and into a fighting position.

"Why are you fighting me like this?" Archer asked. "I thought this was just to 'see my form'."

"I am looking at your form," Vilkas said. "I'm also seeing if you're worth anything in battle, and so far, you've left me unimpressed. I knew you weren't fit to be a Companion. It looks like the old man was wrong this time."

"What are you saying? I can still fight," Archer snarled, bringing his hands up into a combat stance. Looking at the Argonian's bare hands, Vilkas let out an amused chuckle.

"As you wish," said Vilkas.

He rushed forwards and swung his sword. Archer's left arm shot out, and he used his forearm to block Vilkas' incoming sword arm, stopping it from hitting him, before his fist shot out at the man's face. Vilkas' head was rocked to one side from the impact, and then again when Archer's other fist followed suit. Vilkas stumbled back slightly, gritting his teeth. He went forwards again and thrust his sword at Archer's midsection. Archer stepped to one side, and grabbed Vilkas' hand, before quickly disarming him. Vilkas, now weaponless, growled at Archer as he tossed the sword away.

"If that's how it's going to be, then, let's do it," Vilkas said, unstrapping the shield from his arm. It fell to the floor with a clang, and Vilkas put both fists up. It was no longer an ability assessment, it seemed, but an outdoors brawl. Things had just gotten interesting, and the surrounding audience watched with anticipation.

Vilkas swung a fist, which Archer ducked to avoid, and then kicked forwards. Archer caught his leg, and pushed it up, throwing Vilkas off-balance and throwing him backwards. Vilkas scrambled to his feet, and back into a fighting position. He rushed towards Archer, and meant to grab him, but instead, Archer grabbed _him_, and fell backwards onto the floor, taking Vilkas with him. Using his opponent's own momentum, Archer used his leg to catapult Vilkas backwards, causing him to land on the stone floor painfully a few feet away. However, Vilkas still wasn't done yet; the body armor had taken most of the hit. Keeping a level head instead of blindly rushing forwards again, Vilkas changed tactic. He got up, and began to circle around Archer, waiting for a good chance. The Nord darted forwards, and managed to get enough close to Archer, just in time to grab an arm that was about to smash into his face again. Vilkas threw his own punch, but Archer caught it with his free hand. However, Vilkas had gotten just into the situation he wanted, into a clinch where he could simply overpower the Argonian with brute strength, and began to push Archer onto the ground.

Archer and Vilkas both knew that Vilkas was the physically stronger of the two, and so far, it seemed that Vilkas' plan was working, as he was slowly forcing Archer backwards. Several of the onlookers spectated eagerly, including Lydia, who was looking worried, and Balamus, who still looked self-assured.

"What's the matter?" Balamus asked, catching sight of Lydia's worried face.

"If he loses this, then he won't be accepted into the Companions," she said. Then, she caught sight of _his_ face, and looked at him quizzically. "Why aren't _you_ worried?"

"Because I already know that he's going to win," the Dunmer stated. "I'm sure he's got at least one last trick left up his sleeve."

"You can't… win this," Vilkas growled through gritted teeth, pushing down on the Argonian. "I'm stronger than you… and I'm heavier than you."

"You know what?" Archer said. "You're…absolutely right."

Then, Archer turned around, quickly grabbing Vilkas' right upper forearm with his right hand and his right wrist with his left. Then, Archer pulled forwards, throwing Vilkas off-balance and pulling him over his back. Vilkas was thrown over Archer's shoulder as the Argonian rolled his torso forwards to launch him. Due to the added weight of his armor, Vilkas crashed onto the floor with a heavy thud, the wind knocked out of him as he lay flat on his back. Vilkas tried to get back up, but he was pinned down by Archer, who now had his claws at Vilkas' throat.

"Too bad your weight only worked against you here, huh?" Archer said.

"Alright, alright, I yield," said Vilkas, a slightly resentful tone in his voice.

Satisfied, Archer removed his claws from Vilkas' throat. The Nord man stood up, and looked at Archer.

"Alright, you two are worthy of being Companions," Vilkas said. "But if those were _real_ fights, they wouldn't have been so easy, but you might just make it."

He looked back at Archer, who was now holding Vilkas' sword back to him. Vilkas looked at Archer warily before taking his sword back, and inspecting it. "Hm, this blade's getting dull." He handed it back to Archer. "Since you're still whelps, you do as we say," said Vilkas. "Now, go take my sword up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. Be careful, it's probably worth more than you are," he added.

Archer glared at Vilkas, but took the sword anyways. "You," Vilkas said, pointing at Balamus, "follow me, I'll show you where you whelps will be resting your heads."

Vilkas walked in to Jorrvaskr once more, along with most of the rest of the small crowd that had assembled to watch the fights. Balamus looked back at Archer, but followed the Nord man inside. Archer looked down at the iron sword in his hands. Lydia walked up to him.

"I'm not usually one to give much praise," Lydia said, "but what you did there… that was nothing short of impressive. He was much heavier than you, how did you throw him over your shoulder like that?"

"It's a move called the Shoulder Throw," Archer replied. "I use my back to help throw him. My back's stability means that I can throw people heavier than me, and not need as much strength as if I were to lift them. It's been a while since I'd done one before, I'm just glad I was able to execute it that time."

"Where did you learn so many unarmed attacks?" Lydia asked. "I'd been taught some unarmed techniques, but none of them were as advanced as the ones you use."

"When I was young, my parents - my _adopted_ parents - and I lived in Cheydinhal for a while, in Cyrodiil's east, near Morrowind," Archer said. "Since it's relatively close, many natives of Morrowind come in from the east to Cyrodiil, mostly Cheydinhal. This meant that there were many native Dunmer in the city for a time, and none of them liked me too much, as was expected. The Dunmer would pick on me, especially the children. Sometimes they'd even hit me, and I wouldn't be able to do anything because I might hurt them with my claws, and get my parents in trouble. However, there was an old Khajiit monk who became my friend during that time. He's the one who taught me how to use my body as a weapon, especially my claws. I suspect he's probably dead by now, but he was kind to me."

"Things must've not been easy for you as a child," said Lydia.

"No, it wasn't," Archer said. "But it's much better than here." He sighed softly, looking down at Vilkas' sword. "I'm having second thoughts about joining these Companions," he added.

"You'd better not back down now," Lydia scolded. "Just because one person shows disdain for you, and you want to quit already? Just like that?"

"Why do you talk as if you knew what it was like to be judged just by what you are?" Archer asked. "You're not an Argonian, you're a Nord, people don't look at you and see a beast."

"Yes, but you're forgetting that I'm a woman, and I worked in the Whiterun guard," Lydia said. "None of the men thought it was proper of me to be a guard, to fight like men do. I was looked down upon by all the men there, and I never backed down. I worked my way up, I fought my way to where I was, and I did it without ever looking back. At the end, most of them finally respected me to some degree, and I was in a high position in the guard force. If I can do something like that, then there's no telling what _you _can do, the Dragonborn."

Archer considered her position a moment, then said, "Okay, okay. I won't back out now."

"Good," she said. "Now, I think we should take that sword up to that man to have it sharpened."

Archer, remembering what Vilkas had told him, began walking up the stone steps to the Skyforge. At the top of the rock, there was a forge full of red-hot embers. The heat could be felt from where Archer stood, at the top of the steps. Beside it was a stone table with a few weapons and armor pieces. A man with long grey hair was sitting at a grindstone, sharpening a weapon. Archer walked up to him.

"Excuse me," Archer said. The man stopped what he was doing, and stood up. He turned towards Archer.

"I'm here with Vilkas' sword, he wants it sharpened," said Archer.

"Okay, I'll sharpen it later," said the man. He took the sword and set it aside, then looked at Archer closely.

"So you're the new recruit who I heard was brawling with Vilkas down there?" he asked, amused.

"Well, yes," said Archer. "Does Vilkas always make the new recruits do these things?" he asked.

"Oh don't worry about it," said Eorlund. "Every one of them were whelps once, they just might not like to talk about it. And don't always just do what you're told, nobody rules anybody in the Companions."

"What?" Archer said. "Nobody rules anybody? Nobody at all?"

"That's right," said Eorlund. "Not sure how they managed it, but there haven't been any rulers since Ysgramor came with the original 500 Companions."

"That's impressive," Archer said. Archer had never heard of any organization without a leader. These Companions must have been closely-knit together to function without a leader. "Well, anyways, I need to be going now."

"Hold on, I need to ask a favor of you," said Eorlund. Archer stopped walking away to look back at Eorlund.

"I need you to take this shield to Aela," he said, handing Archer a steel shield. "My wife is in mourning, and I need to get back to her."

"I can do that," Archer said.

"That's a good man," said Eorlund. The old man turned back to his forge to begin laying out some metal ingots. Archer, however, lingered for a moment to absorb the heat from the Skyforge. The heat was welcome in the ever-present chill of Skyrim. Then, he looked at the Skyforge. It was large, and it looked different than the others he had seen. The stones it was made from looked very old and weathered, but the embers burned very hot.

"What's the matter, boy?" asked Eorlund, seeing Archer staring at the forge.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Archer said, "I was just wondering how much work it takes to use a forge."

Eorlund looked at him, and said, "It's not always easy, but it's certainly worth the effort. If you put time into your blades and armor, you'll find noticeable results."

"Well, I should be going now," Archer said.

"Hold on now," said Eorlund. Archer stopped. "Do you know how to smith a weapon?" he asked.

Archer thought it over for a moment, then answered: "I can craft a dagger."

"Well, that's not too bad," Eorlund said. "If you ever want to learn how to _really_ smith weapons and armor, you can come see me," he said.

"I'll take note of that," Archer replied. With that, Eorlund went back to his forge to work. Archer and Lydia went down the steps of the Skyforge, and into Jorrvaskr, taking the steel shield with them. Once inside, Archer asked around for Aela until he was directed to one of the rooms in the living quarters. They saw Aela standing in the room, speaking with another man. He had grey hair, and two streaks of black warpaint on the side of his face, along with a scar over one of his eyes. The glassy appearance to the eye was evident that it must've been blind.

"What?" asked Aela.

"I have your shield," Archer replied.

"Ah, good, I've been waiting for this," Aela said, taking the shield. She looked up at Archer. Seeming to remember something suddenly, a small smile formed at her lips.

"So I guess this means that you _did_ make it into the Companions, then," she said.

"Aela, you know this one? I saw him fighting with Vilkas out in the yard," said the man in front of Aela. "Well, it started out as a fight, but it quickly turned into a brawl. He still won, though."

"Ah yes, I heard you gave him quite a thrashing," said Aela, a small smirk at her lips.

"Don't let Vilkas catch you saying that," said other Nord man.

"How do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?" Aela asked.

"Honestly, I think he might kill me," Archer said. "I think the only reason why I won was because he underestimated me, and because he had no weapons except his hands."

"Well, that one mistake would've been enough to have gotten him killed in battle," she said. "But I'm sure he won't underestimate you again. I don't think anybody will, to be honest."

"Some of the others might actually want you to teach them how to fight like that," said the other man. He then looked at Lydia.

"I don't think I saw you getting tested," said Skjor.

"I'm not signing up for the Companions, I'm just his housecarl," said Lydia. Skjor raised one eyebrow, and looked back at Archer.

"So we have a _Thane_ in our presence, then?" he asked. Archer made no comment.

"Here, why don't we have Farkas show you where you'll be resting your head?" Aela suggested. "Farkas!" she called.

There were thudding footsteps and the clanking of metal as Farkas came down the hall, appearing at the entrance. Archer remembered him: it was the man that he had saved from being killed by a Giant when he had first visited Whiterun. By the way that the man looked at Archer, it was obvious he remembered him as well.

"You called?" said the large Nord man, who was bigger than Archer by a good few inches.

"Yes, ice-brain. Farkas, show this newcomer where he'll be bunking with the others," said Aela.

Farkas looked at Archer, realizing that he was the newcomer. "So you're the newcomer, then." It wasn't a question, but an affirmation. "Come. I'll be showing you to your living quarters," he said. He then walked off, with Archer following at his side.

"Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they're good people," said Farkas as they walked down the hall.

"Yeah, I can tell," Archer said, remembering Vilkas' dislike towards him. The others had been more open to him, unlike Vilkas. He'd get used to him eventually, Archer guessed.

"So, what does a Companion do?" Archer asked.

"We go out on missions sent by people who require our services, rain or shine."

"Sounds rough."

"Yeah, life in the Companions can be rough. I hope you last longer than the last newcomers. Poor guys lasted three days."

"…That's comforting."

The to of them finally stopped at a room near the doors to the mead hall. The room was rather small, with several straw beds placed at the sides and corners. It was relatively simple as well, with few ornaments and only a couple of end tables to put things in. There was some food plates on some small tables, along with some bottles of mead.

"This is where you'll be sleeping. Just pick a bed and fall in when you're tired," said Farkas.

"Thank you Farkas," said Archer.

"By the way," Farkas said, "I saw you fighting with my brother earlier."

Archer froze in his tracks, partly in fear. He slowly turned to look up at the enormous Nord man beside him, with arms as big as normal people's legs, and who, apparently, was also Vilkas' brother.

"…your Brother?" Archer asked. _Well, this is a nice mess I've gotten myself into_, he thought.

His fears were assuaged when Farkas began to chuckle.

"Oh, don't worry about it, I'm not mad," said Farkas. "I think he had it coming to him. It was time that he lost a fight."

Archer quietly sighed in relief.

"Oh, and don't worry about him, either," Farkas said. "Knowing him, he'll either act as if it never happened, or ask you to teach him how to fight like you did back there. He's not a bad person, he just doesn't like to lose to a whelp."

"Alright, I"ll keep that in mind," Archer said. "When do I start training?" he asked.

"It's a little too late to be training now," Farkas replied. "But we'll have one of our members teach you next morning. Be ready." He turned to Lydia. "I hope you understand, miss, that since you're not a Companion, you can't sleep in here?"

"What?" Archer asked. "If not here, then where will she-"

"Archer, it's fine," Lydia assured. "I'll just… take a room at the Bannered Mare."

"No, Lydia-"

"_Yes, _Archer. I'm not a child, I'll be fine," she said.

"Are you sure it's okay with you?" Archer asked. "I really wouldn't want to do these things at your expense."

"Yes, Archer," she said. "Right now, the most important thing here is for you to get trained well. We need to make sure you can fight by yourself without help." Even though she said those words herself, it sounded to Archer as if she still didn't like the idea. He wouldn't blame her.

"Don't worry, she can still visit during the day," said Farkas. "She won't be breaking any rules that way."

Archer looked back at Lydia, then sighed in defeat. "Okay, then. Have a good night."

"I'll try," she said. She then turned, and walked off, presumably towards the tavern where she'd rent her room.

"Well, I've got to get back now," Farkas said. "Take care." Farkas walked away to leave Archer.

"Oh, by the way," Farkas said, as if remembering something. He turned to Archer fully.

"Welcome to the Companions," he said.

**END A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter, guys! Remember: Review if you want to speed things along, or if you've got any critiques or comments. I read them all, and I appreciate them all!**


	10. One Shot, One Hit

**A/N: Hey guys! I hope you've all been having safe and happy holidays! I was kind of hoping to get this in before Christmas as an early "gift", but family stuff prevented it. It's okay, though. I managed to get this done before too long, I think. I hope you guys enjoy!**

The night sky advanced quickly on Cyrodiil, the province directly south of Skyrim, quickly shrouding the entire province in darkness. Considered by many to be the crossroads of Tamriel, Cyrodiil was once known as the heart of Tamriel's Empire, which used to from coast to coast in olden times. The sun used to never set on the Empire, until the chaos of the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis tore it apart. Despite the country's fall from power, Cyrodiil still remained one of the most influential provinces of Tamriel.

Skingrad, the second-largest city of Cyrodiil, resided to the southwest of the Imperial City, in the very heart of the province. Skingrad was, by no means, a very colorful town, with its mostly grey-tinted buildings, but it is one of the finest examples of a well-run city. Skingrad was regarded as one of the most hygienic, orderly, and all-around prosperous city, and not to mention safest, directly aside from the Imperial City itself. Sometimes, however, safety levels are relative.

A humanoid figure was in one of the trees near the city, carefully balancing himself on a tree branch just thick enough to hold his weight. He was clad in an entire suit of black leather, including a hood to hide his face. He was inspecting the city from afar, ignoring the smaller buildings, but carefully observing the larger edifices on the West side of the city. His mark was inside one of those large buildings, and he knew exactly which one it was. Someone was going to die today.

Finally deciding that the time was right, the assassin jumped to the next tree branch, then the next, jumping from branch to branch. He had learned that traveling by the tree branches was much faster than traveling by the ground, especially in the forests where the ground was uneven and blocked by bushes and large rocks. It was also a useful tactic for when his mark traveled through a forest, because nobody suspected to look up when they felt they were being watched.

The tree line ended far away from the city walls. The black garmented figure jumped down from the tree and onto the floor, still enshrouded by the darkness of the night. He stealthily made his way towards the city by foot. The roads leading to the city were flanked by hills on each side of it. They would provide good cover for him as he reached the city walls. After only about a minute, the assassin was stationed right at the walls. The walls would be a near-insurmountable object to any common thief. However, he was no thief; this wall would prove no match to him. He flexed his left hand, casting a spell on himself. Moments later, he began levitating over the walls. Levitation was a kind of magic that had been outlawed in 3E421, several hundreds of years earlier, but still enforced until today. He didn't care that he was breaking the law. He'd be breaking it some more within the next hour anyways.

The assassin easily went over the wall, and gently landed on the roof of a large house. He scanned the surrounding area, spotting a particularly large house, only slightly larger than the rest, on the other side of the street: his target's home. His contract called for the death of an Imperial man by the name of Praetus Sivetan. The assassin didn't know why someone paid to have this man killed. All he knew was that the man was apparently rich enough to buy a newly-built house in Skingrad, which would most likely cost thousands of septims, in comparison to the ones that had already been there. He didn't care much for the reasons, it wasn't his business anyways. The reasons behind the kill were kept solely to the client. The client paid his organization, and he filled out the contracts. That's how things worked out. That's how it had always been, and he liked it that way.

Instead of using levitation again and risk being caught by the guards, the assassin began to carefully and quickly climb down the impressive edifice. Since there were no windows that he could breach to get inside without alerting anybody, he had to use the front door. He got to the street level fairly quickly, making sure to hide himself in the darkness once more as a passing guard came by him. The guard never noticed him, and the assassin slipped past, undetected. He dashed to the other side of the street, and made his way towards the house quickly. He never made a sound as he moved, and his black leather suit made it so that he was completely camouflaged in the darkness. It was as if he were part of the shadows themselves, the darkness embracing him as its own brother. The darkness, he had been taught, was his ally, his guardian. It protected him, kept him safe, while deceiving those who fell victim to its illusions.

He was now at the house's front door. Just as he had expected, it was locked. However, with some surprise, he also noticed that the door was reinforced. Perhaps this man knew he was wanted dead. That would definitely make this job much more interesting, he thought.

He got into a squat, and pulled out a lock pick. Deftly moving the pick into place, the assassin easily picked the lock, turning the lock until it clicked into place. He pulled his pick back, and soundlessly pushed his his way inside the house. The door barely creaked as he inched it open, until the gap was just wide enough to admit his entrance. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, making sure that he didn't catch his tail in the door.

* * *

Praetus Sivetian sat in a rather large, comfortable chair in his favorite lounging room. The room was his favorite because, besides its various comfortable pieces of furniture and wine bottles which were readily available, it gave him a grand view of the city and part of the wilderness near Skingrad. The night scenery felt nice and quiet, which was a nice change from his previous occupation as Grand Champion of the Arena in the Imperial City.

He had fought hundreds of battles as a fighter in the Arena, pitted against hundreds of people within the walls, and had taken hundreds of lives in his rise to Grand Champion. He had to owe it to near-constant practice for his victories, especially in his final battle against the last Grand Champion. He fought every day, and loved every minute of it. They ran out of able contestants for him quickly during his time as Grand Champion, and had to pit him against wild beasts such as Minotaurs. While no easy opponent, they, too, fell to his blade. However, he was starting to grow weary of such bloodshed. Having saved up all his fight money, he was able to buy one of the best houses in Skingrad, and retire in luxury. Unfortunately, he felt slight unease.

His last battle at the Arena several days ago was against an actual human opponent, a skilled Breton battlemage, much younger than he. The two of them had fought valiantly, until he had ended the young man's life with a well-placed sword thrust through the heart. As he reveled in the Arena's cheers and applause, one voice shrieked out in horror. It was the young man's mother.

She jumped onto the Arena sands and ran to her child's dead body, weeping over her lost son. At such a sight, he could not help but feel a tinge of regret for having killed him; the man could have been a great warrior had he not given his life in the Arena. The guards went onto the battleground and grabbed her by both arms to pull her out. Thrashing in their grasp, the mother of the deceased warrior tried to break free, but they were stronger than her. Suddenly, her eyes, almost radiating with pure contempt and hatred, caught his. She managed to stop the guards from dragging her just long enough for her to look directly into his eyes, and declare, "I will have your _head!"_

Plenty of times had he been threatened with death, some of them from the other arena contenders, but never before with an intensity even similar to that of the mother's. Her hate-filled eyes, burning into his own as she promised him death… it was unlike any passion he had seen. This woman had unnerved him, and that alone was a troubling fact, considering he was the Grand Champion, who was never supposed to be afraid. He had bought this house, and he had a reinforced door installed along with it. But that alone did not suffice. As a precaution, he hired a few well-trained bodyguards to keep him safe. Such a move as that might have seemed cowardly, but he just wanted to be sure. The kind of measure people could take these days to achieve something could oftentimes be impressive. As of yet, however, nothing had happened. The match had taken place several days ago. If she hadn't actually done anything yet, he doubted she would anytime soon. In a few days, he figured, he could safely retire the guards from his services and finally clam down.

"You seem comfortable in that chair of yours," said a voice.

Praetus immediately shot out of his chair, putting his wine glass down as he did so. He looked around, and saw nothing. The candles in his room illuminated every corner of the lounge, but he saw nobody.

"Who's there?" he asked warily.

"What difference will it make if I don't tell you?" the voice responded.

The man quickly welled up with anger. "Come out, fiend! Show yourself, now!" he demanded loudly.

The voice chuckled, seemingly amused at the man's anger. "As you wish," said the voice.

A humanoid figure clad in black leather armor gradually dissolved out of thin air in front of him. Praetus tried to get a look at their face, but it was mostly shrouded by a hood. The scaly tail behind the leather-clad figure revealed their race.

"I knew that the Dark Brotherhood would come for me," he said. "How did you get past the guards?"

"I snuck past most. I killed those who were in the way. Most of them are still alive. And don't think about calling for help, I've put a muffling spell on the room," said the Argonian assassin. The imperial showed the tiniest sign of frustration.

"You know, it's not the first time I've had an assassin out for my head," said the Grand Champion.

"I suspected as much," said the argonian assassin. "However, you've never been hunted out by someone like me, of my skill."

"I don't care what makes you different from the others," the Imperial growled, "you're no better than the scum off the bottom of my boots."

"Such harsh words coming from a soon to-be dead man," said the Argonian.

"Well then? Are you going to kill me now?" asked Praetus.

The Argonian shook his head. "No, that wouldn't be right. I know that you have skill in a sword. I intend to give you an interesting death," he said. "I know you will prove to be a better challenge than others."

The Imperial looked at the Argonian oddly. He hadn't thought that he'd be given the privilege of being able to fight back. Not questioning the assassin, he walked over to where he had left his shield and sword, the only remaining things from his legacy as Grand Champion, and picked them up. He quickly strapped the buckler shield to his left forearm, and held his elven broadsword in his right.

Looking back, he saw the Argonian pulling a steel dai-katana katana out from his back. As any able warrior would, Praetus began to analyze his opponent. He could only expect this assassin to be skilled, having been able to break into his home and kill some well-trained guards with apparent ease. What advantages did he have? For one, he had a sword of better quality metal than his opponent. He could tell that the katana was made of very fine, tempered steel, but it would still not be comparable to elven-made steel. He'd also have a sword and shield to fight with, as opposed to the assassin, who was using a two-handed sword. The Argonian held the katana close to his body, in a ready position. Praetus did the same, adopting a combat stance ready to fight.

Praetus charged forwards, and parried an incoming thrust from the Argonian. He swung his sword sideways, but the assassin ducked under the blade, quickly moving out of range afterwards. The Imperial tried to go for another attack, but the assassin thrust his sword again, keeping him away. Suddenly, there was a flash of silver, and Praetus barely had time to raise his sword to parry the katana as it came for him. The assassin tried for another attack, and Praetus blocked it with his shield. The Argonian continued the unrelenting assault with his katana, never letting up, forcing Praetus to block the lightning-fast strikes from the katana. The Imperial growled in frustration. He was the Grand Champion; he was not the person who gets pushed back, _he_ was the person who pushed people back. Regardless, as much as he'd hate to admit it, he'd found his match.

Suddenly, Praetus lost his grip slightly on his weapon. It was only for a split second, but in that small timeframe, the assassin had already taken advantage, disarming him. He could only react fast enough to barely block the incoming katana as it cleaved overhead again. The Argonian struck like a Cobra, each attack getting closer and closer to hitting flesh, each attack allowing him to gain more ground against the Imperial. Praetus felt a jolt in his shield arm as he blocked another incoming katana blow. He had to think fast, or else he would die very soon. He finally remembered that he kept a weapon hidden besides a large bookshelf in the room. Praetus allowed himself to be backed towards the bookshelf, finding the Argonian's strikes to be increasingly more difficult to block efficiently. Suddenly, there was no more ground behind him, and Praetus felt his back against the bookshelf. His hand darted to the side of the bookshelf, blindly feeling for the weapon. The Argonian posed himself for one last finishing strike, just as Praetus's fumbling hand grasped the shaft of the weapon.

With a grunt of effort, Praetus pulled out the spear and thrust it forwards. The Argonian barely had time to dodge the spear's head. Praetus moved away from the bookshelf, and back into the fight, with the Argonian backing off, staying out of the spear's reach. The Argonian watched as Praetus adopted a fighting position with his spear. Its sharpened bronze tip pointed towards the assassin, ready to be plunged deep into his ribcage at a moment's notice. The assassin was undaunted.

Praetus inched forwards, keeping his shield up and his spear pointed at the assassin. The Argonian kept back slightly, no longer out of the spear's reach, but still cautious. Almost too fast to notice, the Argonian swung his katana low, at Praetus's unprotected legs. The Imperial jumped back, and blocked another incoming slash with his steel shield, before retaliating with another thrust. The lizard deftly hopped to one side, before sending a thrust at the Imperial in return. Praetus blocked the blow with ease, and prepared for another spear thrust. The Argonian was faster, and ran at him with his katana raised over his head in an attempt to split his head open. Acting quickly, Praetus ran forwards and rammed his shield into the lizard's chest. The Argonian was sent to the floor and onto his back. Praetus posed himself for a final thrust to end the pathetic assassin's life. He thrust the spear at the Argonian's chest.

The Argonian deftly rolled out of the way, faster than the Imperial could have anticipated. The sharp bronze spear head embed itself into the wooden floor deep enough to make Praetus have to force it back out. The moment he turned to thrust the spear at the assassin again, his opponent swung his katana at the spear's shaft. The wooden shaft proved no match for the tempered steel of the katana, causing the spearhead to be chopped off, much to Praetus's amazement. Praetus dropped the glorified stick he held in his hand, and braced himself behind his shield, taking a few steps back, before charging forwards in a last-ditch attempt to bash the Argonian's chest.

The assassin could not avoid the shield bash, and got the Grand Champion's shield slammed into his chest, but Praetus did not stop there. Instead, he continued pushing the assassin back, intent on slamming him against the back wall and crushing his ribcage with brute force. However, the assassin had other plans.

The Argonian regained his footing and quickly circled around behind the Imperial. Praetus, who could not stop fast enough due to his gained momentum, cried out in pain as the assassin's katana slashed open the back of his leg, hamstringing him. Stumbling onto one knee, the Imperial's other leg was hamstrung as well, causing him to cry out in pain again, and forcing him to fall onto his other knee as well. The Argonian pulled his sword back, then thrust it forwards, into the Imperial's back. Praetus let out one final pained cry, before the sword was pulled out of him, and he slumped forwards onto the ground. The Grand Champion was no more.

Looking over his kill, the assassin smiled in satisfaction, his sharp, white teeth visible from beneath his hood. Sheathing his katana, he looked to one side, and saw the Grand Champion's - _ex-_Grand Champion's - elven broadsword lying on the floor. He walked over to it, and picked it up, placing it in a spare sheath as a trophy. After all, it was a victory worthy of memory.

He felt vibrations going through the floorboards, hurried and heavy; the guards were coming. His muffle spell must have worn out without him noticing, and the Champion's death cry must have caught attention. He looked around, seeing only one door and a few windows which would obviously make a loud sound when broken; no way of escaping unseen. Moments later, the doors burst open, revealing a doorway occupied by Imperial guards.

"Spread out, and search the room! The cries came from up here!" said the commanding guard. Without another word, the rest of the guards crowded into the room, looking around. They didn't see anything that dictated a battle, except a bleeding body on the floor.

"Oh, hell," said one of the guards, looking at the dead body.

"What is it? Evidence?" said the commander. The other soldier shook his head.

"No, it's not that," said the guard. "This was the Grand Champion of the Arena." The commander looked at him, surprised.

"The Grand Champion?" he asked. "As in, _the_ Grand Champion, the one who retired a few days ago?" The soldier being addressed nodded grimly.

"Damn," said the third soldier, looking at the bleeding body. "Who could've thought that the Grand Champion would have died, not on the battlefield, but in his own home?"

"Stabbed in the back, too. The coward took 'em by surprise," said the first guard.

"He couldn't have been taken by surprise. There's his spear on the floor, broken. He's got his shield on, too." said the third guard.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked the first guard.

"It means that he died fighting," said the commander grimly.

With all the commotion around the body of the deceased Grand Champion, none of the guards noticed the invisible Argonian only a few feet away from them. Soundlessly, the assassin crept towards the door, opened it just enough so the door would allow him to pass, before letting it close itself naturally, as if he had never been there.

He quickly made his way out of the large house, then made his way out of the city. Some previously-dark houses were now lit from within, their residents having been aroused by the commotion of the guards rushing into the house of the now-deceased Grand Champion of the Arena. He made it out of the city and kept going, running farther and farther away until he was out of sight of the city. Now in safe territory, he still didn't stop running until he got to his horse, a swift Chestnut stallion.

"Another kill for the Brotherhood," said the Argonian as he mounted the horse. The horse simply snorted in response. "Let's go home, shall we?" said the assassin, before riding off down the road.

Thankfully, his destination was not far from where he was. The Dark Brotherhood sanctuary was stationed in the city of Kvatch, not too far to Skingrad's southeast. His horse was fast, allowing him to get to the city within a few hours. Slowing his horse down to avoid arousing more suspicion than he would like, the assassin drove his horse to the stables outside of Kvatch. He hopped off his horse and handed the slightly-drowsy ostler the horse's bridle, along with a small bag of gold coins to pay for his horse's care. The Argonian then turned and walked into the city.

Kvatch today was a large city, but not quite as large as it was before the Oblivion Crisis began around 200 years ago. It was rebuilt over those years, but most would never consider it to be like it was before, at its former glory. Back then, it was a huge city full of people. Today, its most significant, albeit unknown feature was that it was also the headquarters for the Dark Brotherhood's activities in Cyrodiil nowadays.

The assassin walked through the city and towards an empty water well that nobody visited anymore. Nobody except the Brotherhood, of course. Making sure nobody was looking, the assassin quickly entered the well and climbed down it. There were a series of stones jutting out from the walls of the well, placed there to help the assassins climb in and out when they needed to. He finally got to the bottom of the well, and into the sanctuary.

The sanctuary was relatively small compared to some older sanctuaries in Cyrodiil, such as the one in Chedydinhal, but it was useful regardless; it provided the Dark Brotherhood with a safe haven from the law and guards. He was in the middle of a medium-sized room, which had several hallways leading to and from it. He chose one hallway and walked down it. He continued walking until he found a room with a closed door on it. There was a marking on the door which looked as if someone had dipped their hand in black paint and then put the hand on the door. Without hesitating, he opened it, and went into the room.

Inside, two men, one of them a Bosmer, were going over some paperwork, not looking up when they heard the door open.

"Yes? What is it?" said the Bosmer, his quill scratching against one of the papers.

"Praetus is dead," said the Argonian. The quill stopped scratching against the paper. Both men's attention refocused on the Assassin in front of them.

"Did you now?" asked the other man. As an answer, the Argonian pulled out the Grand Champion's infamous Elven Sword, the same one that had slain hundreds of enemies prior to this day. The sword was easily recognizable from its unique design and ornate handle, causing the two Dark Brotherhood Speakers to look upon it in recognition.

"The Grand Champion's sword," said the Bosmer. "So you've done it, then. You've successfully carried out the contract. I'm sure we'll be hearing soon enough news about this," he said, "Well done, Varan."

Varan bowed his head. "Thank you."

"You know, I heard that Praetus was getting paranoid, and hired some guards," said the other man.

"He hired some bodyguards," said Varan. "They were good, but-"

"They couldn't defeat a Shadowscale," the elf completed Varan's sentence.

"Technically, he can't be a _real_ Shadowscale, like in the olden times," said the man who was now besides him. "The Shadowscale operations had ended in Black Marsh a long time ago."

"But he's still born under the sign of the Shadow," said the Bosmer. He then sighed, as if remembering a good memory. "You know, I still remember when the Shadowscales were still in tradition," said the Bosmer in an almost nostalgic tone. "But since the Shadowscale operations ended, we haven't had much of an influx of able warriors besides the simple murderers we recruit."

"We're lucky that that small renegade group of Dark Brotherhood members in Black Marsh decided to try and bring it back again," said the man. "It might not have worked out as they planned, but because of it, we managed to get an able assassin here." Varan knew that the man was referring to him.

"I work only to honor the Family," said Varan. "I'm glad I can help bring back the glory to the Dark Brotherhood's name." He only spoke the truth. The Dark Brotherhood was a group of assassins, but they were his Family, his Brothers in Darkness. They were almost all he knew, besides how to kill a man in about 1000 different ways. He'd never betray his Family. He couldn't even betray them, even if he tried.

"It's always comforting to have a loyal and exceedingly capable recruit in our faltering ranks," said the Bosmer. He held out an outstretched hand, holding a sizable pouch filled with gold. "Here's your pay," he said. "And by the way, let me be the first to congratulate you on such a spectacular kill. The Grand Champion had held his title for years before you killed him, I'm sure it was no easy feat."

"Maybe you could've taken his spot as Grand Champion of the Arena, ey?" joked the other man.

"Thank you. Both of you," said Varan. "I'll be taking my leave now."

"Sithis guide you," said the two Speakers. Then, Varan left the room.

"Is that proof enough for you, Frande?" the Bosmer asked the other Speaker.

"I'm starting to agree with your decision, Galthor," said the man. "But Ri'Dato is currently out on his own contract; we cannot make this decision without consulting him as well. Let him return, maybe let Varan out on one last contract, and then we will all decide if he is worthy of the rank which you wish to bestow him."

"We need someone of his skills to be of higher rank," said Galthor. "He's been in our service for several years already, all he knows is his Family. He will be a trustworthy member of the Black Hand."

Meanwhile, Varan was walking towards his resting quarters, passing by the training room on his way.

"Varan," called a gruff voice from within. Varan turned to see Ghamul, another Dark Brotherhood member, inside the room, with a conjured Dremora Lord beside him. It was strange to have an Orc in the service of the Brotherhood, but Ghamul was brutally effective at his job.

"Hello, Ghamul," said Varan, walking inside to greet his comrade. Looking at the Dremora, Varan said, "As to you, Kuriyu." The Dremora known as Kuriyu bowed his head respectfully.

"How did the contract go?" asked the Orc, sheathing his mace. The Dremora did the same, putting away his Daedric longsword.

"It went fine, I decided to let him give me a good fight," said Varan. Ghamul arched an eyebrow, and Kuriyu crossed his arms.

"That was the Grand Champion you dueled with, was it not?" asked Ghamul.

"Grand Champion or no, it matters not to me," said Varan. "He died by my blade in the end. The contract was carried out as planned."

Ghamul gave an approving nod. "That man's killed minotaur lords and land dreugh with ease," he said. "I wonder how he'd fare against a dragon, like the ones they've said have come back in Skyrim," the Orc mused. He looked at Varan. "You _have_ heard what they've said about dragons, right?"

"I have," said Varan. "And I also heard that a small town in Skyrim's south - Helgen, I think - got burnt to a crisp by one of them. Though, we shouldn't be believing all we hear, Ghamul."

"Slaying the Grand Champion is an admirable feat, indeed," said the Dremora approvingly. Kuriyu was a proud Dremora Lord, one who chose only to speak with those he deemed worthy. He only spoke extensively with Varan and Ghamul because they were the only two mortals he had respect for, considering their prowess in combat.

"This is good," said Ghamul, "That kill should send a strong message: The Dark Brotherhood is back." Varan shook his head.

"No, not yet," said the Argonian. "We're not very strong as of yet. We must take time to grow our influence here without raising alarm, else all our progress will be for naught."

"What we need is some more good recruits," said Ghamul. "Maybe even more Shadowscales."

"The Shadowscales aren't coming back," said Varan. The Orc looked at him strangely.

"Yer a Shadowscale, right? If they're not comin' back, then how'd _you_ even come to be one of us?" asked the Orc. Ghamul didn't know about Varan's origins as an assassin, mostly because he hadn't taken interest until now, besides Varan's natural tendency to stray away from the topic.

The Argonian was silent for a moment, then answered: "I was taken as a hatchling by a renegade group of Brotherhood Members. They took me out of Black Marsh. I got trained by them for years, but was eventually separated from them, and ended up giving my services to the last remaining group for the Brotherhood in Cyrodiil. The Shadowscale operation failed, so don't be expecting any more of them any time soon."

The Orc snorted, and said, "Well, ya can't have everything. Good ta know you're here with us, in the Family an' all."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," said Varan. "Well, I will be going back to my quarters now. Sithis be with you."

"Sithis be with you," said Ghamul, and turned away from Varan, returning to his sparring match with Kuriyu.

Varan walked down the hall, and finally reached the door to his room. He opened it, and went inside. It was a relatively simple room, sparsely decorated with only a few actual pieces of furniture inside: a bed, a desk with paper, an ink pot, and a quill. A small bookshelf, a weapons rack where he kept his own weapons and his looted trophies, and a wooden chest completed the room's furniture layout, providing only the essential necessities. Varan walked over to his desk and put the bag of gold on it, next to some other gold pouches. He walked to his bed and sat down on it, resting his weight on it lightly, making sure it didn't squeak. Even when not on a contract, he was always naturally quiet. He couldn't help it, years of hard combat training ever since a very young age left him adapted to a Shadowscale's way of life. He didn't think it would be a habit he'd break any time soon.

He decided that the best thing to do would be to rest. He'd need the energy for the day, and he could get in some more practice hours in the training room if he slept lightly. His hands reached up to pull of his hood, which had been pulled over his head for the entire time in the sanctuary so far, hiding most of his features. He pulled the hood back, off of his face, revealing his features. Scales that were dark green enough to be almost black covered his body. A pink scar ran over the left side of his face, a training accident in his early days training to be a killer. Small horns lined his eye ridges, much like human eyebrows, and two horns that looked like a ram's horns sprouted out of his head as well. The lizard's eye color, however, was by far his most striking feature. As opposed to a normal Argonian's bronze-colored eyes, Varan's eye color was rare even for Argonians: golden.

* * *

"Come on, Archer, you can do better than that!" Balamus teased.

"Shut up, you cocky bastard!" Archer laughed, before letting loose an attack from the axe he held in his left hand.

The two of them were currently sparring in the courtyard. Lydia was silently watching their spar from a distance, while Torvar and Athis, two of the other Companions, worked on some unarmed techniques that they'd learned from Archer. During his time in the Companions, Archer had not only learned how to use a blade, but also how to smith, courtesy of Eorlund's frequent smithing lessons. In addition, Archer showed some of the other Companions about unarmed techniques, at their request, even some of the more experienced ones.

"Arms starting to sting?" Balamus asked, blocking a surprisingly well-dealt blow with Hellsting, the name he had given to his flame-enchanted Ebony longsword.

"Just a little, nothing worth caring about," Archer replied, deflecting Balamus' blade as it came towards him.

"That's good. We're gonna build the muscles in you that you never knew you had," Balamus joked.

Archer did not respond at first, until he managed to trap Balamus' sword with his weapons. Archer disarmed him swiftly, to Balamus' partial surprise: it hadn't been the first time Archer had disarmed him today.

"I let you win that one, you know," Balamus said, bending over to pick up his sword.

"Just like all those other times you 'let me win'?" Archer said, putting away his weapons.

"Alright, I'll admit, you've gotten much better at fighting with swords," Balamus said.

"What's this? The Great Balamus is conceding to _me?_" Archer said in a slightly mocking tone.

"Well, it's a far sight from when you first started here a few weeks ago, at least," Balamus said, smirking. "Remember when you thought you could draw your sword and swing at the same time? That must've been the shortest mock fight I'd ever seen."

"How was I supposed to know how hard it would be?" Archer said.

Just then, Athis, one of the other Companions, came up to Archer, with Torvar behind him.

"Hey, Archer," said the Dunmer warrior, "We've been trying to do that move like you taught us, but we can't seem to get it right."

"Which one? The Bull Rush?" Archer asked. Both of the other Companions nodded, and Archer sighed. "Okay, I'll show you guys _one_ more time. Torvar, stand over here," Archer said. The nord walked over to Archer, looking somewhat uneasily at Athis.

"This isn't going to hurt, is it?" Torvar asked.

"This is going to teach you," Archer said, purposefully failing to give Torvar the answer he wanted. "Now, what you do is, if they're close to you, you've got to push them away and give you a bit of room. Then, you rush towards them, and grab them below the waist with both arms…" Archer grabbed Torvar, whose eyes went wide, "Before lifting them up…" Archer easily hoisted the Nord into the air, whose eyes had grown even wider. "And slamming them back down onto the floor, like so..."

"Okay I get it now! Just don't drop me!" said Torvar, slight fear creeping into his voice. Archer let the Nord back onto the floor.

"Got it now?" Archer asked them. Torvar and Athis nodded quickly. "Good." The two of them walked away at a hastened pace, and Archer turned back to Balamus.

"Those two are always trying to get you to be their personal tutor," Balamus said. "Doesn't it get annoying?"

"Frankly, yes," Archer replied. "But I wouldn't worry about them for a while, I bet they'll think twice about getting any more lessons from me. Well, at least for the while, anyways."

"Archer," said a voice behind the two of them. They turned to see Kodlak standing there. They immediately turned to attention.

"Yes sir?" said Archer.

"At ease, at ease," said Kodlak. "And don't call me 'sir', I don't want to feel old," he said, smiling.

"Apologies," said Archer.

"Archer, I feel that I need to speak with you on a… particular matter," said Kodlak. He looked towards Balamus. "Young man, could you leave the two of us to speak in private?"

"Sure," said Balamus. Without another word, he turned, and walked inside Jorrvaskr, the wooden doors closing behind him. Kodlak turned back to Archer.

"Is something wrong? Am I not performing well?" Archer asked.

"No, my boy, you're doing fine in your combat training," Kodlak said. "Archer, I'd like to speak to you about your friend there," said Kodlak, motioning to where Lydia was. Archer turned his head to look at her, then back to Kodlak.

"Lydia? What about her?" Archer asked.

"How has she been lately?" Kodlak asked.

"I'm not really sure," Archer said with a shrug.

"You haven't talked to her, or anything?" Kodlak asked. Archer shook his head. "I thought so."

"Why, what's the matter?" Archer asked.

"My boy, I don't know as much about women, given my age," Kodlak said, "but I can see that she's not happy with how things are."

"What do you mean?" Archer asked.

"Look at her now," Kodlak said. "She looks distant, thoughtful, and, if I had to take a guess, maybe even lonely." Archer turned. Lydia was simply leaning against one of Jorrvaskr's wooden poles, looking to no particular spot on the ground. She didn't seem to look very happy, given her morose expression. "Don't you see? I may not know much about women, but I know sadness when I see it."

"So you think she's sad?"

"Actually, I'm fairly certain of it by now."

"Why do you think she feels this way?" Archer asked. "When I was starting out as a Companion, I asked her if she was okay with her current arrangements, and she kept assuring me she was fine."

"She might be able to get along with her current arrangements, but it doesn't mean she enjoys them," Kodlak said.

Archer's expression softened, as much as an Argonian could manage.

"If I can remember correctly, she's your Housecarl, correct?" Kodlak asked. Archer nodded. "She has a duty to protect you, but when you're in here, she has no purpose to do so because you're surrounded by Companions."

"So you're saying that she feels… ignored?" Archer asked.

"Well, that's one part of it," Kodlak said. "There might be more complications to why she is so, but even I wouldn't be able to tell you that."

Archer looked at Lydia. When he first joined the Companions, she wasn't allowed to sleep in Jorrvaskr, but she could always rent a room at the Bannered Mare. Also, he wouldn't let her come along on his contracts, claiming that he needed to learn to fight for himself, and that in any case, he'd always have another Companion with him to protect him. So she stayed. Archer went along on his contracts, sometimes alone, but most of the time with another Companion. He hadn't realized until now how little he had been interacting with his Housecarl.

The thought made him feel guilty.

"Why wouldn't she say something? I never even heard her complain," Archer said.

"Her natural pride might have something to do with it," Kodlak said.

"If I may ask, why are you talking to me about this?" Archer asked.

"Because it seems to me that you're distancing yourself from her, and losing her as a friend. I, more than anyone else here, know about the value of a strong friendship," said Kodlak. "You should know this, too. After all, you have your Dunmer friend, right?"

"Balamus has been my best friend for many years," Archer said. "Our history goes back many years."

"Well, the difference between an old good friend and a newer good friend is little," Kodlak said. "Both will be loyal at your side, but both need to be looked out after as well, or risk losing them. Skyrim is a harsh land, boy, and friendship is a commodity that is hard to come by at times, as is trust." There was a moment of silence between the two, until Archer broke it with a sigh.

"What do you think I should do?" Archer asked. Kodlak stroked his beard, thinking.

"Well, back when I was still a young lad, if I ever thought that the ties between me and a friend were loosening, I'd always invite them to do something with me," Kodlak said. "You know, I was something of a hunting enthusiast as a young man, and nothing seemed more bonding to me than a good hunt with a companion of mine."

Archer looked at him oddly. "You're saying I should invite her on a hunt with me?" he asked. Archer still had not forgotten how loud she had been when the two of them were assaulting the Valtheim Towers. The memory of her loud armor almost made him wince.

"Well, it's just a suggestion," Kodlak said. "If you want to keep your friend, then I suggest making her feel wanted. Or, at least, like she hasn't been forgotten. She'll feel better if she knows that you still care for her."

"I suppose…" Archer said.

"Well, I have to be attending to other things now. I hope things work out." With that said, Kodlak walked back inside Jorrvaskr. Archer looked to Lydia, but then decided to go inside Jorrvaskr as well. He needed time to think.

He walked in and sat down on one of the chairs in the mead hall, next to Balamus.

"So, what did Kodlak want to tell you?" asked Balamus.

"He just thought that Lydia was feeling left out, and that I should do something to make her feel wanted," Archer said, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some relatively weak mead. These norms had an unusually high tolerance for alcohol, it seemed almost _inhuman_. Archer had resorted to drinking weak Honeybrew mead, or wine.

"Well, If I were you, _I'd_ want to be friendly with an attractive woman who's sworn her life to me," Balamus said.

"You're still trying to get her?" Archer asked. "Are you sure you want to court an aggressive woman who can probably tear you in half?"

"Not really, she isn't exactly the type of woman _I'd_ want," Balamus said, "But she's still an attractive woman. I can look, can't I?" he asked. Archer simply shook his head, smiling.

"Oh come on, Archer. She _is_ somewhat brusque, but even _you_ should be able to see that she isn't at all unattractive, right?" said Balamus, half-joking. Archer remained silent, looking at his mead mug. Balamus raised his own mug to his lips.

"…She is not unattractive. I will say that much."

Balamus' eyes widened, and his throat constricted in surprise, preventing him from swallowing the rest of the mead in his mouth right away. After swallowing, he turned his surprised face towards Archer, who was nonchalantly drinking mead from his mug.

"…_What?"_ he asked. He had been joking when he asked Archer's opinion on Lydia. He hadn't been expecting to actually get an opinion out of him. He didn't even know that Archer _had_ an understanding of human attractiveness.

"I think I'll go outside to practice some archery," Archer said after setting down his mug. He grabbed his bow, which was leaning against the side of a wooden beam and walked outside, leaving a surprised and partially confused Balamus alone.

Walking outside, Archer stepped out into the sunlight. He walked towards the shooting targets, and loaded an arrow. The targets were rather close, but it was better to practice with them than risk letting his aim suffer. He pulled the bowstring back slowly, taking careful aim. His eyes darted to one side, seeing Lydia still looking distant and morose, making him feel guilty again. He promised himself he'd do something about it later, and refocused on his target. He let go of the arrow, which smoothly flew through the air and reappeared at the bull's-eye mark in the target. Archer pulled out another arrow, and began to pull it back, but his thoughts began to nag at him again, telling him to do something about Lydia already. Why was he caring like this? He wondered why he was being so bothered by Lydia's sadness.

It finally occurred to him that it was bothering him because he _did_ care about her, because she _was_ his friend. Since after their disaster at High Hrothgar, Archer had definitely felt different with Lydia. It was evident that she felt and thought differently about him as well. She had started being nicer to him since he saved her from death, and had shown that she held some respect for him. No longer did he feel the tension in the air between them, nor had he seen her disgusted expression whenever she looked at him. In fact, she had actually smiled at him a few times on their return trip to Whiterun. Such a sight would have been very rare, had she still hated him.

Archer sighed, and he lowered his bow. He put the arrow back into its quiver, and slung the bow across his back. He was going to do something about this _now_. He purposefully strode over to Lydia, who only just noticed his arrival.

"Hello, Lydia," said Archer.

"My Thane," she greeted, looking at him. "Was there anything you needed?" she asked.

"No… well, not exactly," said Archer. "I actually just wanted to know how you were doing," he said.

"Well, I've been through worse," Lydia said. "Sometimes, on slow days, I would get the long, dull patrol duty, when I was a guard. It wasn't fun, and sometimes I'd have to take the same duty several days in a row. It's not very fun… but I can manage."

"Lydia, I know you haven't been able to get out and do much of anything because of me-"

"My Thane, please don't try to comfort me, I'm fine."

"Well, I don't believe you," Archer stated plainly. "Which is why I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What do you want to ask?" she said, standing up so she wasn't leaning on the pole anymore.

Here, Archer hesitated for a moment. He hadn't actually thought out what he wanted to tell her, which was something completely unlike him. He quickly decided to take Kodlak's advice: "I was hoping that you'd like to go out on a hunt with me," Archer said.

Lydia's eyebrows rose in surprise, for she had not been expecting such an invitation. Then she looked at him strangely.

"You want to go out on a hunt… with _me_?" she asked him.

"Well… yes, I'd like to," Archer said, beginning to feel slightly awkward. "But, if you'd rather not, then, that's okay." Lydia thought for a moment over her Thane's proposition.

"Actually," she said, "I think I'd enjoy going on a hunt with you."

"Really?" Archer asked. "Well… okay, good. We can go now, if you'd prefer."

"Sure," she said.

A small smile formed on Archer's face, and he grabbed his arrow from the target he was shooting at earlier, before turning and beginning to walk out of Jorrvaskr. However, he heard the loud clanking of Lydia's heavy armor behind him as she followed.

"Woah woah woah, where are _you_ going?" Archer asked her, turning around. She arched an eyebrow.

"I thought we were going on a hunt."

"Well, not like _that_ we're not," Archer said, gesturing to her heavily armored body. "That armor will drive any deer within a mile away from us. If we actually hope to catch anything, you're going to have to drop the steel armor."

"I don't really have any other armor," Lydia said, putting her hands to her hips. "Unless you'd have me strip to my undergarments."

"That won't be necessary," Archer said. He caught sight of Ria, the youngest Companion recruit, walking by.

"Ria," he said, catching the woman's attention. "Me and Lydia are going out on a hunt, and she only has her steel armor. Do you have any old light armor that she could borrow?" he asked.

"I have my old set of leather armor," she suggested.

"That'll work fine," Archer said.

"Come with me," Ria said, gesturing for Lydia to follow. Both women went inside the building, leaving Archer alone for the moment.

It had been a while since he had had a good hunt, he thought. He'd probably enjoy this. But, more importantly, he hoped that Lydia would enjoy the chance to get out and do something as well. He knew how much he hated staying still for too long. He could only imagine how it would be like for her, having been a guard subjected to daily training and drills. Yes, she would most likely be happy with this, which was enough to satisfy his guilt.

"My Thane," he heard Lydia's voice say.

He turned his head to see that Lydia had finally donned the leather armor. She wasn't wearing the helmet, probably because Ria didn't have one, and the apparent look of slight unease on Lydia's face was probably from the lack of protection that she would get from the Leather compared to her old steel armor. Now that he looked at her, he noticed that the armor was a bit small on her, and rather form-fitting too; he could see the natural curves of her body through the leather, which he wouldn't have been able to notice had she been wearing her steel armor. She coughed politely, snapping him out of his thoughts, his golden eyes snapping onto hers.

"Ready to get going?" Archer asked.

"It feels really light…" Lydia said. shifting uncomfortably in the leathers.

"Well, true, it won't offer much in the way of protection," Archer said, "But don't worry, I've been hunting plenty of times; and I'm fairly certain that deer can't shoot arrows or use swords."

"What about bandits?"

"We won't stray too far from Whiterun, we should be safe, okay?" he asked.

"Okay…" Lydia said.

"Good," Archer said. "Well, let's go then. The hunt begins."

With that said, he turned, and began to make his way out to the plains of Whiterun, Lydia following behind eagerly.

* * *

"My Thane."

"Yes?"

"The sun is starting to go down."

"I can see that."

"Should we go back to Whiterun?"

"Just a few more minutes," Archer said dismissively.

"But we've been out for several hours already," Lydia said. "We've already got a modest load, too." She held up their game bag, which contained the rabbit he had shot, along with the pheasant that she had shot as well.

"That won't serve for much," Archer noted. "Maybe we can bag at least another animal before we leave. Come on, Lydia, don't be a killjoy."

"I suppose. Alright," Lydia said. Her lack of an argument let Archer know how she was enjoying herself too.

"You know, I never knew how good of a shot with a bow you actually were," Archer said. "You're quite remarkable."

"Thank you, my Thane," Lydia said. "I used to hunt with my father when he was still alive, and with my brother after he died."

"You had a brother?" Archer asked.

"Yes. He went to join the Stormcloaks, though," Lydia said. "So I haven't heard from him since he left. I hope he's well." She turned to him, and asked, "Do you remember having any siblings?"

Archer stopped walking. Lydia stopped too. He was looking down now, thinking. He had a thoughtful look in his eyes, trying to remember his childhood again.

He spoke: "I have… I have a brother," he said. "Though like I said earlier, I could never tell the difference between what is actually a memory and what is just my imagination. For all I know, I could have imagined most of what I have decided are real memories. But out of all those things, I know for a _fact_ that I had a brother." His voice held the strength of certainty, as if he was absolutely sure that he did, in fact, have a brother. Maybe he did.

"What happened to him?" Lydia asked.

"I… we got separated, early in my childhood," Archer said. "I don't remember how it happened, and I don't think I will, but… I'm just not sure anymore." He sighed, and looked down, his features gloomy. Suddenly, however, he perked up, listening.

"What-"

_"Shh!"_ He hushed her quickly, quietly, dropping into a crouch. She mimicked him, getting low, her leather armor yet again proving to be silent as he was. He had heard something, but what was it? She kept silent, listening. She could hear something scraping at the ground.

Archer looked, and put his finger to his lip in a gesture to stay quiet. He turned to one side, to a small hill, and slowly snuck towards it. She followed him closely, hoping to not disturb the silence. They came upon the hill, and Lydia scanned the area. There. Right at the side of a smaller hill in front of them, several yards away, was a rather impressive Elk, with large antlers that sprouted from its head like a natural crown. Its hoof pawed at the ground, the sound that Archer must've heard.

"That Elk must weigh at least 700 pounds, maybe more," Archer said, admiring the beast.

"Okay, let's get close so you can shoot it," Lydia suggested.

"…No, the wind's coming in at a bad angle. It'll smell us coming. I'll have to shoot it from here."

"From here? With _that_ bow? You can't make that shot."

"Just watch me," Archer said. The hunting bow he sported was a short bow. While it had rather limited range compared to a longbow, the short bow could punch a hole through large Elk with ease. It wasn't a question of if he could down the elk in one shot, but if he could actually hit it from this distance. He had taken shots from this far before, and even from farther than he was now. This elk would suffer no different a fate than the ones that came before it.

The bowstring was pulled back, an iron arrow loaded into the bow. He slowed his breathing, concentrating on the elk several yards away. The tip of the arrow was now right over the elk's shoulder. Gravity would pull the arrow down to the animal's heart at this distance, granting a clean kill. He was ready.

Then suddenly, he reset the tension on the bowstring. He turned to Lydia, and said, "I want you to make the shot."

She looked at him as if he were mad. "What? _Me?_ Make that shot?" she said in a whisper.

"Yes, you. Who else could I be talking to?" Archer asked, handing her the bow.

"Are you sure that I can make it?"

"Just try and make the shot," Archer said.

Lydia hesitated for a moment, but got into position momentarily. She crouch-walked a bit closer towards the deer, next to Archer. She took a deep breath, and raised the bow. She pulled the string back, feeling the tension of the string in her fingers. She narrowed her eyes at the deer. It was still standing there, idly chewing on some grass, not noticing her crouching where she was. The arrow tip was right on the deer's heart, and she was ready to fire. But she didn't.

She sighed, and lowered her bow. She couldn't make the shot. It was just too far for her. This was one of the few times in her life that she just wasn't sure.

"I can't make the shot," she said. "It's just too far for me."

"No it's not, you just have to try," Archer said.

"Archer, you make the shot, I'm not good enough," she said.

"Look, I'll show you," Archer said, impatient. He walked over behind her. Before she could ask of his intentions, his arms were around her, and she froze. He grabbed the bow near where her hand was, and the string near where her other hand was.

She made to let go of the bow, but Archer said, "No, don't. I'm going to show you how to make the shot." Slightly reluctant, she allowed him to guide her arms into shooting position again.

"First, you need to judge the distance," Archer said. "Do you have an idea how far it is?"

"Yes," she said. "At least, I think so."

"That's good," Archer whispered. "Now, raise the bow, take aim… and take into account the distance _and_ wind." He raised the bow, their arms moving in coordination. For Lydia, this was somewhat embarrassing. The closeness was making her slightly uncomfortable, and the position of his body against hers didn't make it any better.

"This is the tricky part," he said. "Imagine the arrow's path before firing."

"H-how do I do that?" Lydia asked. She was trying to pay attention, but the position of his body against hers, along with the feeling of his body heat seeping through the leathers, was making it difficult for her.

"Watch," Archer replied. He then began to take aim with the bow, moving the arrow tip towards the elk's body. He had to move his face closer to Lydia's in order to accurately aim, making her blush slightly when the side of his face made contact with her cheek.

"Just take the tip of the arrow, and drag it just above the elk's heart," he said, speaking slowly and quietly. "Then… take into account the arrow's drop…" he raised the arrow's tip above the deer's shoulders.

"Now fire," Archer said.

Just as she was going to let the arrow fly, a strong gust of wind came by from behind them at an angle, pushing their scent towards the elk. Right when the elk raised its head in alarm, Lydia readjusted the aim of the arrow, taking into account the change of wind direction, and let it fly. There was a twang as the bowstring launched the whistling arrow at the elk, the arrow reappearing only a moment later buried inside the elk's chest, where its heart was. The elk fell on its side upon the arrow's impact, and lay there motionless.

Archer let go of Lydia and ran towards the deer, with her following behind. He slowed to a stop a few feet away from the body. It didn't move at all, not even a twitch.

"That was a clean kill," Archer said. "I have to admit, I thought you were going to miss that shot."

"Then why did you want me to take that shot, if you thought I was going to mess it up?" Lydia asked.

Archer shrugged. "Well, I thought it'd be a good learning experience for you."

"Learning experience?" Lydia asked.

"Well you see, when I was a hatchling, my father would take me out adventuring with him sometimes. He liked to use the experiences we had out in the world to teach me about life, and I wanted to do the same with you," Archer said. "Long ago, me and my father were caught in the same situation that we saw ourselves in earlier. A deer was standing rather far away, and we had only a cheap bow to shoot it with."

"What happened?" Lydia asked.

"I didn't think I would make the shot, and I didn't," Archer said. "My father showed me about taking risks. You acted much like me in the same situation, which is what makes the lesson more effective. It had the same outcome... except that this time, we actually got the deer." He nudged the dead elk to make his point.

"What was the lesson?"

"You see, in the guard training, you've been taught to go into battle without taking risks, ensuring victory above all else. That has its benefits, but it also limits your possibilities. Sometimes, taking risks can have a greater reward than if you decide not to take the risk. If you didn't take the shot, like you did back there, you would have prevented failure, but you would have never gained anything at all. You learned that the same way that I did," Archer said. He looked to the deer, and smiled. "And because of you, now we've got this huge elk we can eat back at Jorrvaskr." He patted her on the arm, making her smile, feeling pride in her chest.

Archer then walked towards the deer, and squatted low, taking out his iron dagger. He and Lydia began to field dress the deer, with Lydia staying back. Archer split the elk's underside open from end to end, cutting through the hide and muscle first. Archer worked quickly, but carefully, hoping not to cut open the membrane that held in the animal's guts. After he had separated all the guts from the inside of the elk's chest cavity, Archer began to cut and pull out all the innards.

The smell of blood hung around the air, making Lydia's stomach twist, and the sight of Archer gutting the thing didn't make it any better. The whole removal process took several minutes, but eventually, he managed to leave the elk's insides hollow, a steaming pile of innards lying a few feet away from him, except for the liver, which he put in the game bag.

"How do you stomach this stuff?" Lydia asked. "I could never gut a deer myself."

"You forget that I was a hunter before an adventurer," Archer said. "I've gutted big game long before I ever went out on a real adventure. I'm used to this. But the worst of it is already over, now all I have to do is quarter this thing and we can get back."

He began to cut away at the elk, beginning with the front leg, then moving onto the back legs, then the ribs and spine, making sure to cut away the tenderloins. The smell of blood was now thick in the air, and Lydia didn't enjoy it. She was just happy that Archer seemed to be almost finished.

There was a roar, and the next moment, a gigantic brown bear ran into sight, from behind the hill. Archer's head snapped towards the bear, and he quickly scrambled away from the carcass. The bear slowed down, stalking towards them menacingly, huffing out of its mouth. The thing must've weighed even more than the Elk, most of it from raw muscle. Its arms were strong enough to shatter a horse's spine, to say nothing of what it could do to two hunters.

"Don't make any sudden movements… just walk back slowly," Archer whispered. Archer and Lydia backed away from the bear, which was now only a few feet away, and the elk carcass. They backed away hoping that it would want to eat the elk instead, but there was barely anything left of the elk to eat. The scent of elk meat wafted out of the large game bag, and Archer's hands and parts of his body were covered in sticky red blood. Lydia's hand slowly went to her sword, hovering over the hilt, anticipating an attack.

The bear charged, its speed proving to be remarkable. In a few bounds, it had reached them, and swung a massive paw. Archer and Lydia dove out of the way in different directions, the bear missing both of them. The bear made a choice, and decided to attack Archer first, turning its massive body towards the Argonian on the floor.

Archer scrambled to a crouch, and turned to look at the bear, just in time to see the animal's massive paw slam into him. Archer was suddenly airborne, the bear's astounding strength launching him several feet away. He crashed onto the ground again painfully, rolling once before laying on his back.

"Archer!" Lydia shouted, pulling out her sword. The bear now turned towards her, and roared, allowing her to see its white teeth.

It charged, and Lydia braced herself. It lunged at her when it got close enough, and Lydia hopped back, avoiding the attack. The bear was now right in front of her, and Lydia could look right into the bear's hungry amber eyes. Lydia got into a crouch, anticipating the bear's attack as it pulled its head back for another lunge. It struck forwards, charging, and Lydia hopped to the right, stabbing the animal as she avoided the attack. The bear turned quickly and lunged again. Lydia hopped to the left, slashing at the bear's head as it went by, leaving a deep red gash on its head.

The bear, now infuriated, turned again. This time, it ran towards her, and quickly reared onto its two legs, towering over her a good foot, intent on crushing her. Lydia thrust her sword forwards as it stood, burying the blade deep into the animal's chest. The bear roared out in pain, its paws flailing wildly, and Lydia quickly withdrew her sword from the bear's chest, before stepping to one side to avoid getting crushed by the dying bear.

The bear crashed to the ground, and as soon as she was sure it was dead, she looked around for Archer. Seeing him, she quickly dropped her sword and ran over to him, immediately at his side. He was hurt badly, and in obvious pain. He clutched his side in agony, suppressed groans and pained hisses coming out of his throat.

"Archer, where are you hurt?" Lydia asked.

"My... rib," he said in between labored breaths, wincing as he breathed.

"Can you use the Histskin on yourself?" Lydia asked.

Archer nodded, and focused, remembering the Histskin prayer. He spoke it softly, speaking as best as he could in his state. But he didn't get healed. Nothing happened, no matter how hard he tried.

"I can't get the... Histskin to work," Archer said.

"Why not? It worked up on the mountain," Lydia said.

"I don't… know…" Archer said, hissing in discomfort.

"I only have one potion, and it's not enough to heal you completely, when you're like this," Lydia said grimly.

"I can heal myself, but... my hand's broken... can't focus... let me reset it," Archer said. He grabbed his wrist, and before Lydia could stop him, he had popped the bone back into place, a sickening snap audible each time the bone moved. He let out a pained hiss, but kept it down. He looked towards her, and Lydia quickly grabbed at the Potion of Minor Healing at her belt, before uncorking the bottle and giving it to Archer. He guzzled the potion quickly, hoping it would at least numb the pain.

"Thanks, that'll let me feel my hand again, and focus," Archer said after having downed the small potion. "Now I can heal myself right. Just give me a moment..."

He flexed his left hand, and in a moment, there was a warm yellow glow coming from the palm of his hand. The healing magic flowed throughout his entire body, restoring him. In moments, he was completely healed, his bones back in place and intact. He sighed in relief, holding his hand to his once-broken ribs, and stayed lying on the ground.

"Do you feel better?" Lydia asked, her eyes full of concern and worry.

"Yes, I'm fine," Archer said. "That bear fight was impressive, I'd have to say."

"See?" Lydia said. "This is why I like to use the heavier armors."

"If you had been wearing your steel armor," Archer said, "you would have never been able to dodge the bear like you did, and kill it. Also, the bear would have easily smashed the armor anyways, and it could have still crushed you. It was wearing _this_ armor..." Archer tapped her leather breastplate, "that saved your life."

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but could not find a logical argument to counter him.

"I still like heavy armor better," she mumbled. She offered him her hand, and Archer grabbed it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.

"Great, now that we've almost gotten killed, we should probably be getting back now, Archer," Lydia said. He looked at her strangely.

"Are you serious?" Archer said. "I'm not letting that bear go to waste."

"Archer, have you gone mad?!" Lydia nearly cried. "We almost got killed by that bear just now!"

"Yes, but we killed it first, and now we get to claim our prize," Archer said. "Trust me, bear meat is delicious when cooked right."

"Archer, you'll take too long to skin and gut that bear. Another animal might come along, maybe a saber cat. I don't want to go through that again!"

"You sound an old woman. Stop nagging me like one, and we might be able to get something done together," Archer said.

"Wait... are you saying that you want me to help you..." Lydia's eyes widened comically, making Archer smirk in amusement.

"Well, I did say _we_ for a reason, didn't I?" he asked, looking directly into Lydia's appalled face.

"Come on, I'll do most of the dirty work, but if we want to get finished quickly and cleanly, I'll need more help from you than with the elk," he said.

Lydia tried to come up with an argument, but remembering what they had just been through, she sighed in defeat and walked next to Archer, squatting down as he began cutting the bear open. She had already learned that when Archer had his mind set on doing something, he wouldn't budge. There was no changing his mind, and this time would be no different. She just hoped that she wouldn't have to handle the bear's innards much.

* * *

The two of them cleaned the bear together quickly, and this time, they had no other disturbances. They carried the now completely full game bag, dripping with dark red blood, back to Whiterun, requiring both of them to lift the heavy sack. It turned out that there was enough meat in the bag for everyone in Jorrvaskr, and some of the Companions declared to have a feast. Soon enough, the whole mead hall was full of cheering, drinking Companions, including Lydia, who had been allowed to join. After all, she had been the one to supply the bulk of their feast.

Lydia polished off the last of her bear steak, and heaved a satisfied sigh. The meat had been delicious, just as Archer had said; and she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten this well. She sat contently in her chair, drinking up some more nord mead. Her attention caught the presence of someone beside her.

"Someone looks happy," Balamus said, pulling up the chair beside her.

"You better not be trying to charm me again, or I will knock you out right now," Lydia said in an almost calm way.

"Don't worry, I've learned my lesson with you," Balamus said. There was a silence between the two of them.

"So I heard that you were the one who went out with Archer and shot the animals."

"That I did," Lydia said. "You know, he's a lot nicer than I thought he was. I've never seen this side of him before."

"Oh, that's just how he's like," Balamus said, pouring himself some nordic mead. "When he doesn't much like or trust someone, he's not too friendly with them. It's when you get to know him that he shows his good side. He's probably one of the few people you will never forget if you know him well enough."

Lydia scanned the room, looking for Archer. She finally found him besides a few other Companions, all of them laughing like mad. Archer laughed too hard, and fell backwards, causing the others to laugh at him in a good-natured way. Lydia smiled in amusement.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked. Balamus looked over, and smiled at Archer as he watched the Argonian stumble around.

"Oh, poor guy must've drunk too much," he said. "He always was a lightweight, never could take too much drink, unlike me."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Well, he's not going to kill himself, but he'll definitely mess around when he's had enough. Trust me, it'll start to annoy people."

"Well, I'm going to send him to bed, then," Lydia said, pushing her chair away from the table. She strode over to where Archer was, now trying to play a lute, to the amusement of some of the more sober Companions.

"Archer?"

"Yeah?"

"It's time to stop drinking."

"What? No way, I'm havin' fun!" he slurred. There was a sharp twang as one of his claws split one of this lute's strings. He looked down on his now-broken instrument sadly. "Aw…"

"Come on, Archer, I'm taking you to bed," Lydia said, grabbing Archer by the arm.

"Oooh, bed? I didn't think _you _liked me in that kinda way, Lydia!" Archer smiled drunkenly as he allowed himself to be dragged to Jorrvaskr's living quarters. "You know, I li-"

He hiccuped, and then finished saying, "I like you _too_!"

She looked at him, and shook her head. "You definitely _are_ drunk," Lydia said with a sigh.

"No! It's the _truth!_" Archer said, slightly stumbling, causing Lydia to need to catch his fall.

"You're out of your head, it's time to go to bed," Lydia said, taking him next to the bed.

Lydia's expression of disapproval turned to one of surprise as Archer grabbed both her arms. Then it turned to one of complete and utter shock when he pressed his lips to hers.

**End A/N: Remember, everyone! If you liked the chapter, review! If not, then still review! Constructive criticism is read and appreciated just like every other ****review. Well, I hope you all enjoy your weeks! Stay safe!**


	11. Takedown

**A/N: Well guys, here's the next chapter! Again, sorry for the rather long wait, but again, I've tried to make it up to you all with a nice long chapter. Hopefully next chapter won't be so long to produce. There are some parts I like more than others, but I think you'll like it.**

**Another thing: Archer is learning to fight, and he's getting better, but it doesn't mean he's going to become some super warrior. He's not going to go all Assassin's Creed and jump into a crowd of enemies and kill them all singlehandedly. He is, however, more confident and more able in combat with a sword.**

**And now, I end this awfully long Author's Note to let you all read the chapter. Enjoy! **

In the morning, the first thing that Archer was aware of upon his return to consciousness was a pounding headache. By the Eight, what an ache. It was worse than any other he could remember. That steady pulsing, throbbing pain, like someone had smashed a cast iron pot over his head repeatedly. His mouth was dry too, which didn't make things any better. It was almost the first time he drank too much one night, except, if it were possible, this time he felt worse. Groaning, he tried to get up, only to have a warm hand press against his head.

"Lie down, Archer," said a voice. It took him a few moments to recognize it as Lydia's.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him. His eyes were still closed shut, but he could feel as she lowered herself to sit at his bedside.

Finally, he mustered himself enough to speak: "Like crap," he said in a near-groan. He tried to open his eyes, but he quickly shut them as soon as they opened, unaccustomed to the brightness. He started blinking quickly to get accustomed to the change in light. He finally cleared his vision enough to see her sitting at the side of the bed, next to him.

"What are you doing here?" Archer asked, squinting into Lydia's eyes.

"Well, I just came by to see how you were doing after last night," she said, "I saw you sleeping, but you woke up right when I got here."

"Last night…" Archer said in a thoughtful tone. "What the hell happened to me last night?" he asked. "I feel like I got kicked in the head by a horse… or worse."

For some reason, Lydia's face went smooth. "You were drinking," she said quietly. "Drinking a lot."

By the way she said the words, Archer knew that he had obviously done something in his inebriated state. Trying to recall his memories of last night, he furrowed his horned brows in frustration as he realized that he couldn't actually_ remember_ anything, except maybe a few distorted memories. He must've drank a whole barrel of mead to not be able to remember what even_ happened_. He knew he shouldn't have let Torvar persuade him to drink together. That Nord could probably drink enough alcohol to tranquilize an ox, and still manage to stay conscious. He sighed, and quickly gave up trying to remember.

"Alright, what did I do?" Archer asked, sounding like he was expecting to have made a fool of himself during his drunken state.

"Well… you tried to play a lute," Lydia said, a smile trying to gain purchase on her face. "You broke one of the strings with your claws, though." Archer gave her a blank stare in response.

"Really? Is that it?" Archer snorted. "I guess I just owe someone a new lute string." He chuckled, eliciting a nervous-looking smile from Lydia.

"Yeah, I guess so," Lydia said, her eyes wandering slightly. Archer gave her a curious look.

"You're not telling me something, aren't you?" Archer asked.

Lydia's face showed immediate alarm, and she quickly turned to him. "I'm not hiding anything," she asserted.

"You're lying," Archer said with conviction, crossing his arms as best as he could while lying down. "Your body language gives it all away. Now, what was it that I did last night that you refuse to tell me?" he asked firmly.

"N-nothing, my Thane, I-"

"Lydia…" Archer said, sounding like a mother speaking to her troublemaking child.

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, as if thinking about what she would say next. Archer gave her an expectant look, waiting for his answer. Lydia finally seemed to resign from holding back whatever truth she did not initially want him to know of. She took a shaky breath, and quietly, while averting his gaze, she said, "You kissed me."

It took mere moments for Archer's mind to process what she had just said. Instantly, his eyes widened, and he shot up in bed, alarmed. The pain of his headache came back with a fury, and he hissed in discomfort. Lydia tried to get him to lie down again, but Archer was determined. He managed to sit upright in his bed, looking at Lydia with shock.

"Lydia, did I really…?"

"Yes," she nodded. Archer looked at her face, shocked, hoping that this was her idea of a joke. Realizing that she wasn't trying to joke with him, he sighed, and pressed the palm of his hand to his face. So he _had_ made a fool of himself.

"Damn… I knew I'd make an ass of myself if I drank too much," Archer said. He pulled his hand away from his face, to look back at Lydia.

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head, Archer tried to apologize: "Look Lydia, I'm sorry that I did that. I-I had no idea-"

"It's fine, Archer. I'm… not offended," she said awkwardly. "I know you weren't aware of your own actions," Lydia said. Archer mentally sighed in relief.

"But I feel I cannot lie to you about this…" Lydia said softly. "I... am also partly at fault."

Archer's brows furrowed as best as he could manage it, giving her a curious look. "For doing what?" he asked.

Lydia winced, as if anticipating Archer's reaction to her answer. "For not resisting," she said.

Archer's expression slackened, but he regained his composure quickly. He must've heard her wrong.

"You… didn't?" he asked.

Lydia shook her head, her face red with embarrassment. "No."

_By the Eight_, he thought.

"It was very brief, and it was probably the drink that did it," she said, hugging herself, "but nonetheless…"

Archer's jaw dropped slightly in surprise. He almost couldn't believe anything that he was hearing, but Lydia would never made a joke about something like this. But, if what she said was true… he was nervous to know what happened afterward.

"Did it… escalate into anything further?" Archer asked with uncertainty.

"No, it didn't," Lydia said, "Just a kiss, lips to lips." Archer sighed, mostly out of relief.

"Gods, I can't believe this," Archer said. "This is my fault."

"Archer, please don't feel like you were completely at fault," Lydia said. "None of us were in our right minds. I had been drinking too, remember?"

"Yes, but…" Archer began, but stopped short. What could have happened there?

Hundreds of thoughts went through Archer's mind at the moment, thinking for explanations. As Lydia just said, he was drunk, and she had been drinking as well. Perhaps, with both of them drunk, they simply... acted out what they felt? But that would still require some element of actual emotion, which would suggest that they…

He quickly suppressed the thought. No, that can't be right, he told himself. Such a thing was looked down upon, considered taboo by both humans _and_ Argonians. To her people, it was a tremendous shame on her honor to be with one of his kind. She could not possibly harbor such feelings for him, nor could he have the same feelings for her. He had the features of a reptile, and his kind were considered more beast than man by many, not the kind of thing humans typically find attractive. There could be no way for such a thing to happen, unless something else was involved…

_By the gods,_ he thought. _The Histskin._

Maybe it wasn't just the result of their inebriation that caused them to act the way they did last night, but also the effects of the Histskin on them both. For the blessing to heal two people at once, he remembered being taught that there had to be a connection between the two receiving the blessing, specifically a spiritual connection, now that he remembered. When he had used it on both himself and Lydia up in High Hrothgar, maybe whatever spiritual bond that needed to be between them for the Histskin to work wasn't actually strong enough at first. In order for the blessing to work, maybe the Hist _created_ a bond between them.

He didn't know as much of the Hist and the Histskin as he would have liked, but such a thing wasn't completely irrational, he thought. After all, the Hist was what connected all Argonians together, and the Hist had to borrow some of his vitality in order to be able to heal Lydia. In doing that, in may very well have created a spiritual bond between the two of them, similar to the bond that exists between two Argonians. If this was true, then when would the effects wear off? It had been weeks since he had used the Histskin on the two of them. Also, if any connection between them existed, then it was more likely than not an artificial connection, which would most likely break if he didn't do something to renew the bond somehow. Whether that meant not using the Histskin on her again or not even interacting with her anymore at all, he wasn't sure.

"Oh gods," Archer groaned in dismay.

"What?" Lydia asked.

"Nothing, just the headache again," Archer answered quickly. He lied.

His deduction was reasonable and logical in his mind, but he wasn't sure if it was right. He didn't have a good idea on the nature of the Hist, or whether it was even capable of creating a bond between Argonians and non-Argonians through Histskin. He didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't want to alarm her with his theory either. If he wasn't even sure of the truth behind his thoughts, then what use would it be communicating them to her anyways? So he lied.

"Archer?" Lydia asked. He looked up at her.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia spoke: "I don't want things to become awkward between us, so could we possibly… just forget about last night…?"

The Argonian suddenly snorted. "Don't be daft, Lydia," he said. "Something like this, it won't happen… _can't_ happen. You only need to look at my face, and you'll return to your senses." His voice was softer towards the end, the last few words sounding almost sad when he spoke them, as if he realized that there was genuine truth behind his words.

"Archer, don't speak like that," Lydia said.

"Oh please, Lydia, do _not_ deny to me that I look like a lizard," Archer nearly growled, the hangover having made him irascible. "You've even said it yourself in the past," he pointed out. Lydia bristled at the mention of her initial contempt for him.

"It does not matter what you look like," Lydia asserted. "You are _not_ a lizard, you are a _man._"

Archer glared at her, then snorted. "Tell that to the rest of Skyrim's Nords. No matter where my kind go, it's not easy to find people who won't scorn you after taking one look at you."

"No, it isn't," Lydia said softly in agreement.

Neither one of them said anything further, choosing to remain silent instead of speaking. There was an uneasy silence in the air between the two, the kind of silence that usually ended a conversation. The silence that appeared when there was nothing more to be said. Lydia turned to leave the room, only to bump into Balamus on her way out.

"Oh I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?" Balamus asked. Lydia roughly shoved him aside and kept walking, making her way out of the living quarters, and out of their sight.

"So I guess she told you what happened last night?" Balamus asked when Lydia had left.

"Yes, Balamus, she did," Archer said, holding his head in discomfort.

"Yeah, she told me last night, after she put you in bed. You know, I didn't think that _you_ had an eye out for her," Balamus said, smirking.

"Shut up," Archer said in a near-hiss, but the Dark Elf was unfazed.

"Still nursing your hangover, I see," Balamus remarked.

"No, I just like complaining in the mornings while holding my head. Don't you?" Archer asked sarcastically.

"Well, hangover or not, you've got to get ready for the day," Balamus said.

"Yeah, yeah," Archer said, getting out of bed. Having been sent to bed last night in his leather armor, Archer did not have to waste any time equipping everything. His muscles complained as aches formed from having slept in his armor, despite having worn it enough to make it less stiff. Archer mostly ignored the aches and grabbed his bow before he followed Balamus out from the living quarters. There was still traces of last night's feast evident as the two of them walked into the mead hall. The air still smelled faintly of roasted bear and elk meat from last night's feast. He also saw a lute lying on a table nearby, one of its strings broken. It seemed that he did, in fact, owe somebody a new lute string, he thought to himself.

"So what are we going to do today?" Archer asked as he rubbed out a sore spot on his neck.

"Well, I've managed to grab a nice contract for us from Farkas," Balamus said. Holding up a piece of paper, he held it out in front of him, and cleared his throat, reading: "There is a poaching operation located in Halted Stream Camp, northwest of Whitewatch Tower in Whiterun Hold. The reward is 300 gold for the death of their leader." He glanced to Archer, waiting for his opinion.

"Sounds easy enough. I'm ready to go if you are," Archer said, shouldering his bow.

"Alright, let's go," Balamus said.

"Where are you two headed?" asked Aela as she stopped by them. Balamus turned to regard her.

"Halted Stream Camp, just got to deal with a few poachers," Balamus answered. Aela crossed her arms.

"Be careful out there," she said. "Wouldn't want you getting scarred on that _handsome_ face of yours," she said in a mock-serious tone.

Balamus replied, "Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about me, milady, I won't be gone for long. I will be back shortly to grace you with my presence once more."

His response evoked a smile from Aela in return. Chuckling, she replied, "Alright, you two have fun," then walked off, with Balamus looking at her retreating form for a moment before looking back towards Archer. The Argonian was giving him a strange look.

"What was that about?" Archer asked.

Balamus smiled, and said, "I told you I'd get her to like me at one point." Archer shook his head in mild disbelief.

"I never thought that you'd actually be able to _charm_ her," Archer said.

"Come on, was there ever any doubt?" Balamus said.

"Come on, let's go already," Archer said, turning towards the doors.

The two exited Jorrvaskr and made their way to Whiterun's front gates. It was around mid day, so the market square was populated with several people already, all buying things or advertising their products. As they entered the square, Archer caught sight of Lydia speaking with another guard, most likely an old friend of hers. As he made his way past, Lydia caught his gaze. Both looked into each other's eyes for a moment. Lydia turned away quickly, blushing slightly. Archer gave her turned back a sorry look in return, before turning away to follow Balamus again. He never wanted to bring this upon her. It was because of him that they were in this situation. But what other choice did he have? He wasn't going to just let her die up there in the mountain. He had no regrets about what he did up there. He just hoped that this would all tide over eventually.

Lydia watched Archer and Balamus leave Whiterun. When they were out of sight, she turned back to the guard in front of her.

"He hasn't said anything about leaving any time soon, so I guess this is how it's going to be for a while longer," Lydia said. She sighed. "I'm fine with his training, but I haven't been able to do much because of it. What do you think, Hrogar?" she asked, addressing the Whiterun Guard in front of her.

"I don't know what to say," said Hrogar. He scratched his beard in thought. "I think that it's good that he learn to be independent," said the Nord. "He'll survive better alone, and your job will be easier, not to mention."

"Yes, that's true," Lydia said, looking aside. "I know that this is good for him, but… I just wish we could go out already. All this waiting is making me restless, and we still need to accomplish the Greybeards' task…"

"Well, think of it this way," Hrogar said, "You won't have to be seen walking around with a lizard all the time."

Lydia's eyes widened, and she snapped her head up to look at her old friend in shock.

"Hrogar, that _man_ is Whiterun's Thane!" Lydia said. "Have you forgotten that he has slain dragons, including the Dragon that threatened to destroy Whiterun before? Or that he is the Dragonborn of legend?"

"From what I heard, he slew the dragon with the help of a some of our men, some of who aren't here with us anymore," said Hrogar.

"That doesn't change the fact that he is Dragonborn," Lydia snapped back. "Would you insult the very man who is destined to be our Hero?"

"You know I wouldn't," Hrogar said, "but I know others who wouldn't hesitate to do so. Dragonborn or not, he's still an Argonian."

"That doesn't change anything about who he is," Lydia said in return. "He is my Thane and the Dragonborn, and I am bound to his service. I have a duty to serve, and I do not have any intention of shirking my duty."

"You're missing my point, Lydia," said Hrogar. "I'm not trying to insult him, I'm trying to get you to think about yourself. What do you think people will say when they see you following an Argonian around? Most of Skyrim doesn't treat his kind very well here, you know that."

Lydia was about to retort, but she knew that it was in vain. He was right, after all: most native Nords did not take kindly to Argonians in their land, or any other race besides Nords, for that matter. In one city, she had heard, Argonians weren't even allowed within the city walls. She hoped that she and Archer wouldn't have to visit that city anytime soon.

It was a matter of fact that Skyrim was full of racists. She wondered what they would say when they discovered that their savior was an Argonian. She knew at least a few people, such as her father, who would rather kill him for having such a blessing wasted on an Argonian, rather than live with the dishonor of having one as their hero.

She, for one, believed that the Argonian was worthy of respect. Only a few weeks ago, she knew, she never would have been able to imagine herself saying that about her Thane. Back then, her Thane was just another Argonian to her, less than worthy of respect. Her father would believe him to be worthless, just like the rest of his kind. As it turned out, she was not as alike to her father as she once thought. She respected her Thane, but if her father were alive, she doubted he would as well. It was kind of funny, now that she thought about it: the same woman who once hated Argonians with blind prejudice would now have to be one's steadfast companion through the journey lay before him by the Divines.

A few moments of tense silence pervaded the air between the two Nords. Hrogar suddenly coughed awkwardly.

"Lydia, I'm sorry that I insulted your… _our_ Thane," Hrogar apologized. "Guess there's still a bit of my parents inside of me. Course, that's what happens when you're raised by native Nordic parents, huh?"

"I guess so," Lydia said. "But… I don't blame you. You don't know him like I do," she said. "He is an honorable warrior, just as good as any Nord. If you had seen him in his sparring matches at Jorrvaskr, I'd bet a septim you wouldn't think of him the same way."

Hrogar cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so?" he said. "I might just have to see him in battle some time."

"You might," Lydia said. Another guard came up to Hrogar.

"Alright, my shift's up. Yer turn, Hrogar," said the guard.

"Looks like I'm off again," Hrogar said. "Have a good afternoon, Lydia."

Hrogar walked off, leaving Lydia alone with her thoughts about Archer, this time about the incident from last night. The memory refused to leave her thoughts. Like a wine stain on a shirt, it grabbed her attention, but she couldn't get rid of it. What bothered her wasn't what Archer did, however, but rather how she reacted to it. She still remembered the event as if it had just happened.

* * *

_"Come on, Archer, I'm taking you to bed," Lydia said, grabbing Archer by the arm._

_"Oooh, bed? I didn't think you liked me in that kinda way, Lydia!" Archer smiled drunkenly as he allowed himself to be dragged to Jorrvaskr's living quarters. "You know, I li-" _

_He hiccuped, and then finished saying, "I like you too!" _

_She looked at him, and shook her head. "You definitely are drunk," Lydia said with a sigh._

_"No! It's the truth!" Archer said, slightly stumbling, causing Lydia to need to catch his fall._

_"You're out of your head, it's time to go to bed," Lydia said, taking him next to the bed._

_Lydia's expression of disapproval turned to one of surprise as Archer grabbed both her arms. Then it turned to one of complete and utter shock when he pressed his lips to hers._

_After the initial shock wore off, she immediately began to pull away from him, trying to pull her wrists away from his grasp. She could have easily done so, but something quickly stopped her. A foreign feeling that she had never felt before overcame her. She hesitated, and abruptly ceased her struggles. _

_She felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment at the feeling of their lips pressed against each other, but she didn't move an inch. Her mind was screaming at her, trying to get her to move again, but she did nothing. She was supposed to be getting him off! Why wasn't she moving?! _

_Her apparent indecisiveness disappeared, and she regained her senses, but as soon as he had come, he backed off, and Archer pulled away, stumbling backwards slightly in his drunken state. Lydia composed herself again, and looked at Archer, still in shock, before clenching her fists._

_"Archer… Go. To bed. Now," she said, her face red like a ripe tomato, doing as best as she could to keep a cool head. _

_The Argonian's shoulders sagged in disappointment, and he said, "Okay…"_

_ He turned around and climbed into the bed. He pulled the covers over himself, and after a few moments, he was out cold, as if nothing had ever happened. Looking at the Argonian sleeping, she took shaky breaths. She gingerly touched her lips once, where they had made contact with his. Then, she turned to walk away, shaking her head._

* * *

She didn't know what caused it, what caused her to stop struggling, when she knew she had to get him away. Maybe it was the effects of the drink which made her mind slower, as she initially thought. Or maybe it was the fear of accidentally hurting Archer that caused her hesitance, now that she thought of it. Regardless of the cause for it, the feeling was strange, almost indescribable.

Maybe, she thought, Mara had a role in this. After all, the Goddess was in charge of everything related to love and relationships. Maybe she wanted Archer and her to get along better, seeing as how things were initially going between them. Maybe she was doing this just for Her own amusement. Nobody knew how the Divines worked, but She wouldn't possibly want the two of them to actually be together, would She?

Lydia shook her head to shake away the thought. She doubted that Mara sought anything more than their friendship. The dim memory of a temple of Mara in Riften, a town she had heard was in Skyrim's Southeast, came into her mind. Perhaps they could pass by there one day, and maybe she could try to contact the Divine then. That would work, she told herself, but she still felt that she needed something to ease her mind at the moment.

Speaking in barely a whisper, she said, "Lady Mara, please hear my wishes. I ask of you… I am in no need of your assistance. I do not require your aid in the matters of… love… which you busy yourself with. Your Grace… I thank you for your benevolence." Lydia let out a deep breath, hoping that her hasty plea would serve to some effect.

_Mara must be looking down on me with great amusement,_ Lydia thought to herself as she walked off.

* * *

Archer and Balamus walked the path towards where the bounty said the camp was located. As they walked, they conversed about different things to make time go by faster. They ended up talking about what memorable experiences they'd had in the past. Balamus was currently talking about one visit he took to Morrowind.

"…So I was walking down the road, and I see this Khajiit on the side of the road, wearing one of those big Colovian Fur helms," Balamus said, shaping out the tall conical hat in front of him with his hands in pantomime. "Now keep in mind this was a long time ago, so Morrowind wasn't exactly the same, and I didn't know my way around very well. I walked up to him hoping to get some directions to the nearest city. Instead, he goes off on some completely unrelated topic, talking about eating well-ridden horses, something about Mudcrab Merchants, and the existence of Weresharks… or something like that. Bloke had to have been on skooma or the sort."

"You know, I met a Khajiit like that here in Skyrim, " Archer replied thoughtfully. "He told me something about having burned his sweet roll when he used two spells at once. I imagined that he was an addict. I wonder if the two are related in some way?" Archer mused aloud.

"There's lots of Khajiit in Skyrim, and lots of them are skooma addicts," Balamus said dismissively. "I doubt they're related."

The two continued walking along the road. Archer suddenly looked over to the side, and stopped. Pointing to a hill, he said, "There it is."

Balamus turned his head, and saw the top of a wooden wall from behind the hill. Wordlessly, both of them ran towards the hill, then slowed down as they reached the crest. Dropping into a slow crouch-walk, the two of them crept up the very side of the hill, and peeked over the top.

Halted Stream Camp seemed relatively simple, at least at first glance. A mostly-intact wooden shed was in the center of an area marked off by wooden palisades, with wooden catwalks built against the side of a large rocky hill. Two sentries stood on the catwalks, looking out into the vast plains of Skyrim, not seeing the Argonian and Dunmer spying on them from behind the crest of a small hill. Balamus scanned the camp, but could not see any more poachers within the camp from their angle.

"I bet there's more than just two of these guys," he heard Archer say. Balamus silently agreed.

He conjured magic into his left hand, then released the magic, casting a Detect Life spell on himself. The Alteration magic enabled Balamus to see the red silhouettes of three other bandits within the camp walls.

"Five bandits. Three on the ground level, and the two sentries. Should be fair game," Balamus said. After a few moments, he turned to Archer, and said, "Let's go in quiet, see how far we can go without being detected. We'll pull our swords on them when things get hot."

"Sounds good," Archer said, pulling out his wooden hunting bow. Balamus looked at the Archer, and shook his head.

"You're gonna have to be careful while we're in there, mate," Balamus told Archer. "That leather isn't going to do much to keep you alive if things get loud."

"Don't worry, I won't have to be using this much longer," Archer whispered. "I'm working on something with Eorlund, but for now, I'll just have to make do with what I have."

"What, you're making armor?"

"Yes. Eorlund's teaching me how to smith, remember?"

"Ah, right."

Balamus scanned the camp again. "Hm… The sentries will probably see us coming," he said.

"Give me some Chameleon and I'll take them down, nice and quiet," Archer said.

Nodding in understanding, Balamus raised both his hands, a purple glow forming in his palms as he charged his spell. Once fully charged, Balamus cast the spell on Archer. Instantly, the Argonian was covered by a Chameleon spell, rendering him nearly-invisible. As long as Balamus maintained the spell, Archer wouldn't be seen.

"Okay, I'm going in," Archer said softly. Balamus nodded in affirmation.

As he saw the distorted airspace, indicative of where Archer was, move towards the Camp, Balamus simply sat and waited. Knowing the Argonian, he wouldn't have to wait long. His prediction came true, for in a few moments, he saw both of the bandits who were acting as sentries fall over, arrows in their skulls. A few more moments later, he saw Archer standing on one of the wooden catwalks, giving him an all-clear sign. Balamus got out of his hiding spot and made his way towards the camp. Once within the walls, Balamus saw that all the bandits had an arrow through their skull and, unsurprisingly, all died facing away from each other.

"Good shots, they never saw 'em coming," Balamus observed, inspecting the corpses.

"It would've taken less time, had my hangover not interfered," Archer said, retrieving the last of his arrows from a bandit's skull.

"Still complaining about the hangover? You sound like a child," Balamus said.

"What sort of messed-up child do you know who gets hangovers?" Archer asked jokingly.

They looked to the inside of the wooden shack that was in the center of the outer area of the camp. The dirt floor was covered in blood, and the remains of a mammoth skeleton lay on the floor, covered in red as well. The skull's tusks were sawn clean off. Balamus wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"If I had to guess, I think these guys were planning to make money off of selling these mammoth tusks," Archer deduced. "They're worth a good lot these days, or so I heard."

Mammoth ivory was valuable, for many reasons. It was widely used in many crafts, such as in expensive jewelry and other items of decorative value. It expensive because, not only did it make for good, versatile crafting material, but because it was so dangerous to acquire. Even a good hunter would rarely find the need or opportunity to hunt a mammoth. Mammoths were dangerous prey, but in the face of greed, nothing was too dangerous for a man seeking wealth.

"Well, these poor sods aren't gonna live long enough to enjoy the fruits of their 'labor'," Balamus said. "Come on, we've got to take care of the inside now."

"I've got you're back," Archer said.

The two got to either side of the wooden doors leading into the mine. Archer opened the door quietly, allowing the two of them to slip inside without being heard. The cave was rather small at first look. The cavern extended forwards at a downwards slope while a rhythmic clacking sound was heard. At the far end of the cavern, a man wearing iron armor was chipping away at a rock with a pickaxe, completely oblivious to their presence.

"I've got him," Archer said. Archer smoothly nocked a steel-tipped bodkin arrow, and swiftly slew the man with a shot to the back of his head, the armor-piercing arrowhead penetrating the iron helmet. The man fell forwards, against the rock, before slumping to one side, his metal armor making a clang as he dropped. Archer nocked another arrow in case someone else entered, but nobody came to investigate the noise.

"You've got a thing for headshots, don't you?" Balamus asked.

"A shot to the head is quick and painless," Archer reasoned. "Come on. We'll most likely find more of them deeper in this mine."

They snuck in deeper into the mine, avoiding a poorly-hidden pressure plate trap as they neared the body. A large wooden cart full of sawn-off mammoth tusks stood next to the rocky wall to their left, the recent spoils of the poachers. There was also an iron grate door, which was locked. Balamus could hear murmuring voices coming from deeper within the mine, past the locked door. An Argonian's hearing wasn't as good as an Elf's, however, so he had to notify Archer.

"There's more of them behind that door," he said.

Archer nodded in acknowledgement. He walked over to the entrance of the iron door, then curled his lips back in apparent disgust. "I can smell blood from here. Lots of it," he said.

"Hurry and get that gate open already," Balamus said, gesturing for him to hurry.

Archer crouched down to the lock and pulled out his lock pick. He got to work picking the lock, apparently having some difficulty doing so. Balamus, on the other hand, began to rifle through the dead man's pockets, hoping to loot anything of value off. He pocketed the man's coin purse, but he also found a key.

There was a metallic snap as Archer's lock pick broke, followed by the Argonian's whispered curse.

"What's the matter?" Balamus asked, turning his head towards him.

"As it turns out, not all Argonians can pick locks well," Archer said, resting his arm on his kneeling leg.

"Doesn't matter, I got a key from this dead fool here," Balamus said, holding up the key he looted. Archer stepped aside, and Balamus easily unlocked the door with his looted key, giving them entrance.

The two of them snuck into the next cavern hallway. Balamus wrinkled his nose again in disgust as they walked through. The iron stench of blood was everywhere in the air, getting stronger as they walked deeper into the cave. Did they somehow shove an entire _mammoth_ down here? When they reached the end of the rocky hall, the two of them stood on a rocky ridge overlooking the entire cavern room. They took cover behind several bags of food stacked upon each other, and carefully inspected the situation.

As it turned out, the smell was, in fact, coming from an immense mammoth corpse that was lying down on the cavern floor. Its tusks had already been sawn off, and the beast had large puncture wounds in its front, larger than a spear would make, suggesting the use of a pitfall trap. The mammoth was cut open, revealing its large bones and thick muscles. A poacher was kneeling at the mammoth's belly, hacking away at the animal's flank with an axe, evidently not disturbed by the powerful smell of blood and guts. Another poacher was sharpening another axe on a grindstone, working by the light of a lamp beside him. At the end of the room, probably the sleeping area, by the number of beds laid out, a large man was hunched over a table. He was apparently reading a spell book, which was funny to Balamus, considering most of these brigands probably couldn't even _read._

"The big guy over there's probably the leader," Archer said, talking about the man reading the spell book.

"Alright, let's take this slowly," Balamus replied. "They're too close to each other for quiet kills, so we might have to get loud here."

Archer nodded, and nocked an arrow, taking careful aim. His reasoning made him focus on the poacher hacking away at the mammoth, being the only one with a weapon in his hand. He fired, and the man fell against the mammoth, clawing at the arrow in his neck. The other two poachers immediately took notice, and grabbed the nearest weapons they had, shouting out in alarm. Their cover blown, Balamus stood up, unsheathing Hellsting as he did so. Archer wisely put away his bow and pulled out his sword and axe, ready to intercept the two poachers as they sprinted towards them.

The first poacher, wearing chain mail, came at Balamus, swinging his sword sideways, while the leader went for Archer, brandishing a large battle axe. Balamus parried the blow, and countered with his own overhead swing. The man blocked his blow, and retaliated with another swing from the side. Balamus knocked the man's weapon aside, then quickly struck him in the forehead with the pommel of his blade. Stunned, the man could not bring his sword up in time to stop Balamus from slashing his chest. The man staggered backwards from the blow, mortally wounded, but not dead. His chain mail armor prevented the blade from cutting deep enough to kill him straight away, but he didn't even have time to pat out at the enchanted flames burning his flesh when Balamus quickly thrust his other hand, sizzling with fire, towards the man's chest.

The fire bolt was strong enough to send the man backwards, knocking him over the ridge and down onto the lower level of the cavern. Balamus jumped down and easily finished him off with a thrust of his sword. Balamus pulled Hellsting out from the man's body, finding satisfaction in the way the blood evaporated off of the blade. He turned to look at the fight between Archer and the Bandit Chief, who happened to be an Orc, by the looks of it. Archer seemed to be having a good fight with him, parrying the large battle axe whenever he could, but getting his own blows blocked in return. Neither seemed to be gaining any ground on the other or showing signs of fatigue. Balamus kept his distance, a lightning spell at the ready. Archer had made it clear several times in the past that if he were engaged in combat with an enemy, he did not want to be interrupted, unless he were about to be slain. Balamus didn't worry, however. He was confident in Archer's martial prowess.

The bandit chief swung his battle axe from the side, aiming for the Argonian's head, but missing. Archer slashed at the chief during his moment of vulnerability, but the Orc blocked the sword with the shaft of his weapon. He then sent a powerful kick towards the Argonian, knocking him back and opening a window of opportunity for the bandit to strike with his weapon once more. The Orc swung his weapon overhead, and Archer dodged to one side, the axe smashing against the floor instead of on his skull. The Chief pulled his axe back and swung at Archer's head again. Archer, instead of jumping back to dodge the blow, ducked _under_ the weapon as it flew over his head. The bold move had been completely unexpected by the chief, who could not stop himself from moving due to the axe's momentum. He received a slash across the stomach from Archer's axe. The Orsimer did not stagger, however. Instead, the large man roared in a fury, and turned to face the Argonian again, still bleeding from his wound.

He swung his battle axe overhead, taking chunks out of the floor where Archer once stood. The Argonian darted in and did an overhead cleave with his sword, but the weapon was blocked. The Orc began taking the offensive, swinging his battle axe faster and stronger than before. Blood seeped out of the gash on the Chief's stomach more profusely now, but the Orc gave no concession to pain whatsoever, swinging his axe in a beserk rage. It was an ability for which many Orcs were infamous for. Their inner rage would cause the Orc to become almost completely numb to pain or fatigue, while increasing their strength as well. However, their mind would be clouded by rage, rendering them unable to think properly.

It seemed as if Archer were dancing around the Orc, avoiding the large weapon every time it was swung. The Orc did not once change tactic, his sheer rage prompting him to continue swinging his weapon in wide arcs, gaining ground on the Argonian with each swing. Blood silently dripped out of the man's wound, but it only seemed to anger the Orc more, as if the sight of his own blood being spilt was a shame in itself. Archer was beginning to pant now from stamina loss, for his dodging had taken a toll him, having to avoid the powerful swings which he wouldn't be able to parry. At this point, the Orc could simply defeat Archer by wearing him out. He wouldn't last for long, however.

The Orc's berserk fog suddenly seemed to have died down, and he began taking labored breaths, succumbing to his injuries and blood loss. Archer dodged backwards, away from the axe once again as the man swung it towards him. Quickly, Archer darted forwards, and thrust his sword. The Orc raised his weapon to stop the sword, but before he could lift it high enough, the blade had already penetrated his sternum. The man let out a choked gasp, and dropped his weapon. Archer twisted his sword, then pulled out his weapon, allowing the Orc to slump the the floor. Balamus sheathed Hellsting and aborted the spell in his left hand, seeing as how the danger was past.

"That was a good fight you had," Balamus noted as he neared Archer.

"Yeah, it was pretty good," Archer replied, cleaning his weapons against the Chief's fur armor.

"That was a pretty bold move you did back there, ducking under his axe," Balamus remarked. He'd never think to do that himself, it was too risky. He'd leave the fancier things to Archer; he supposed it was the Argonian's agility that let him do such things.

"It was risky, but I wanted to see if it would work," Archer said, shrugging.

"Well, I'm glad it did. If that thing hit, your head would've exploded," Balamus laughed. "You crazy bastard…"

Archer smiled. "Come on, let's get back to Whiterun, I'm tired."

"Let's go."

* * *

Lydia grunted as she blocked Vilkas' sword, before retaliating with her own slash. The nord blocked her attack, and went for a thrust. She felt the jolt in her arm as the sword struck her shield.

"You're better than I thought," Vilkas said as he blocked Lydia's follow-up attack.

"Can't judge a book by its cover," Lydia said, going for another attack.

Normally, Lydia wasn't part of any training matches that took place in Jorrvaskr. This was one of the few times that Lydia had been allowed to participate in a Companions activity. This time, Vilkas had wished to spar with her. Lydia accepted, thankful for any opportunity to actually _move_. Anything was better than idly sitting around, doing nothing.

Vilkas went for an overhead sword slash, which Lydia blocked. She feinted to one side, then raised her sword high for her own overhead. She swung her weapon at Vilkas' neck, stopping her blade just a few inches shy of hitting flesh. Vilkas, defeated, lowered his weapon.

"I see that I have to work on my technique," Vilkas said. "Thank you for the match."

"It's no problem," Lydia said, sheathing her sword. Vilkas smiled.

"You're a decent and honorable warrior. I can see why you were chosen to be Archer's housecarl," Vilkas said.

"Thank you. How has Archer been doing lately?" Lydia asked him, sitting down on a nearby wooden chair. She knew that Vilkas didn't like him much at first, but he seemed to have warmed up to her Thane as the weeks went by. She wondered what his comrades thought of him.

"He doesn't have much experience as of yet, compared to some of us, but he's a very adept warrior," Vilkas said, leaning back on a nearby wooden pole. "The man's got a good head on his shoulders, and the heart of a Nord. He's learned quick, faster than some Nords, I'd reckon. He could probably hold his own in a mock fight against me or Farkas, if he tried. You know, I thought he'd drop out of the Companions at one point, but he's proven me wrong on that. Man's got determination. He's a bit young, but with time, he'll definitely become a truly fearsome warrior."

"That is good to hear," Lydia said.

Suddenly, they heard a horn sounding off in the distance, steady and loud. Vilkas listened, looking around, not knowing what was going on. Lydia, however, knew what the horn meant, and immediately shot up from her chair in alarm. They could hear people starting to walk away, towards Whiterun's front, to where the horn was being blown.

"What's that horn for?" Vilkas asked.

"It's a war horn," Lydia said. "There's an emergency."

Wasting no time, she broke out into a run, leaving Vilkas behind. She looked around to see where the horn was coming from. The large group of townspeople gathered around the guard barracks gave Lydia her answer. All of the townspeople were asking questions and looking around nervously, shifting uncomfortably around as they saw the guards rush out of the barracks in a haste. The guard who was blowing the war horn stood on top of the barracks, sounding it for all of Whiterun to hear. Lydia pushed her way through the crowd of frightened townspeople and ran up to the guard blowing the horn.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"There's an emergency," said the guard. "Whiterun is being attacked by a Dragon." Lydia's eyes widened in surprise. Another dragon attacking Whiterun?

"What's going on here?" Vilkas asked as he pushed his way through the crowd as well.

"A dragon's attacking," Lydia told him.

"A dragon?" Vilkas asked, wide-eyed with surprise. The rest of the townspeople began to talk in hurried, frightened voices, all of them worried about what would happen if the dragon attacked the city directly. Many pointed out that they had a Dragonborn to defend them now, but none of them knew that Archer was out on a contract, and thus not present to be able to assist. She didn't say anything, however, in fear of sparking mass hysteria, and stayed quiet.

"We could sure use some help, Companion," the guard told Vilkas.

"I'll get the other Companions," Vilkas said. He turned and ran back to Jorrvaskr to summon the other Companions.

"Where is the Dragonborn? We'll definitely need him now," said the guard.

Lydia looked back to him, and said, "The Dragonborn is out on a Companions contract now. We're on our own here."

The guard, his voice grave, said, "No Dragonborn… Kynareth guard us."

"We don't need him to kill a dragon," said Lydia with determination. "Whiterun's guards are the best. We've got a duty to defend our people, and by the Gods, I will defend it to the end."

The guard was silent for a moment. "You may be the Thane's Housecarl, but I can see that you're still Whiterun's defender at heart, Lydia," he said. Lydia nodded in agreement. Whiterun was her home, and housecarl or not, she felt it was her duty to keep her home safe.

Vilkas came back moments later, with Farkas, Skjor, and Aela following behind him. The townspeople cleared the way for the Companions, some of them becoming hopeful at the first sight of the band of seasoned warriors. That was good, Lydia thought. They'd need that hope in case things went bad.

"The rest are out on contracts, we're all that's here now," Vilkas said.

"That's good enough, we need all the help we can get," said the guard. "Go on outside, and follow the other guards. The dragon's circling overhead, to the North of Whiterun."

They nodded in affirmation, and Lydia and the Companions all went outside, following the group of guards that had been dispatched to fend off the threat. After a short run, they were able to hear, then see the giant reptilian beast flying overhead, not doing anything yet. Lydia looked around to examine their fighting force. Most of the guards had their standard equipment with them, consisting of an Imperial shortsword paired with a wooden Whiterun Shield. Some of the marksmen were carrying Imperial Bows for long range, quivers of steel arrows slung over their backs. Several guards, however, also had great swords, battle axes, war hammers, and various types of polearms to fight the dragon with. As it seemed, most of these men finally realized the real threat that a dragon possessed. This time, however, they had no Dragonborn to fight with them. Lydia steeled herself; as she'd told the last guard, they didn't need a Dragonborn to kill a dragon.

The dragon looked down on the congregation of guards and warriors as if flew overhead. It did not stay flying overhead for very long, however. It suddenly roared, before finally beginning its descent.

"Here it comes, men!" shouted Commander Caius, the Commander of Whiterun's Guard, who had gone out with his men to fight. "Ready your bows! Make every shot count!"

The Whiterun guards who had bows pulled them out now and nocked an arrow. Lydia, having no bow, simply pulled out her sword and got into a combat position, ready to dodge at a moment's notice in case the beast spat flames.

"Ready?" shouted the Commander to his archers. The Dragon neared them, descending quickly now. The archers all pulled their bowstrings back, waiting for the call to fire. In moments, the dragon flew into bow range.

"Archer volley, fire!" shouted the Commander.

Instantly, a small storm of arrows flew towards the Dragon. Some missed, but many of them scored a hit, making the Dragon growl in pain. However, the projectiles did nothing to halt its advance. The Dragon spread its wings to start gliding across the air, and opened its mouth, spewing a jet of white-hot flames at the guards. Lydia jumped out of the way of the incoming dragon, avoiding the flames. She could feel the heat from where she was, even though the fire wasn't near her. A guard screamed in agony as the flames engulfed him, but he did not suffer for long.

Having drawn the first blood, the dragon roared as it circled around, and it dove again for another strafe run. Any archer that had recovered in time fired more arrows at the dragon as it came in low for another attack, but the steel-tipped arrows fired from the wooden bows did not seem to actually be doing anything.

Another guard fell to the dragon's fire as it passed overhead, the beast roaring in triumph. The dragon circled around and flew close to the ground, but this time, it stopped at a hover above the congregation of warriors. It arched its neck back, growling, before stretching its neck, shooting out more flames. As the dragon hovered, the archers took more shots on the dragon, which was now in their range and not moving. The arrows pelted the dragon from all directions, embedding themselves into the dragon's hide. The dragon, seeing as how it was taking damage, decided to stop spitting out flames and resume flying.

"Damn, that thing doesn't go down easy!" shouted Skjor.

"The arrows aren't penetrating deep enough to hit a vital!" Aela shouted, letting another arrow fly.

"Come on, we can kill this thing! Whiterun's killed one before, we can kill one again!" Lydia shouted, trying to boost morale. Unfortunately, the other warriors were still losing hope as they saw their comrades slain before them. The Dragon plucked a guard from the floor, taking him up high into the air, before letting him go in mid-flight, letting his body plummet to the ground, out of sight. This dragon seemed smarter than the last one Whiterun had faced; it was attacking them from a distance, out of their reach, unlike rushing headfirst into the fray, like the first dragon had reportedly done. Maybe these dragons had different personalities, like people?

"If we die here, then I just want to let you know that it's been an honor fighting alongside you all!" shouted a guard over the roar of the dragon as it flew overhead. The guards stumbled backwards as a result of the force of the dragon's wingbeats.

"Shut up, Hrogar! That's no way to talk!" Lydia shouted back. "We're going to live, if we just put our heads together!"

Seeing as how it had killed a few guards, the dragon's confidence seemed to be restored. It flew close to the ground, and landed in near the group, causing the earth to rumble.

"Everyone, charge!" shouted Commander Caius, raising his own steel sword.

Everyone let out a battle cry, charging towards the giant scaly beast. Some guards charged in with their polearms and great swords, while others chose to keep their distance with their bows. The dragon roared, and swung its head like a ram. It struck a few guards with its head, sending them flying, but they got up again, their armor having taken the blow. Pikes stabbed and heavy axes hacked at the dragon's ribs, chest, and head, overwhelming the dragon. Lydia saw Vilkas strike the beast squarely in the face with his great sword, knocking the head to one side. Spurred on by the ferocity of her comrades, Lydia charged in and sank her blade deep into the dragon's flank, eliciting a roar of pain from the dragon.

The dragon lashed out blindly with its jaws, snapping them shut on thin air. The guards dodged the dragon's jaws, to the frustration of the beast. The dragon, aware of Lydia on its flank, shook its body, forcing her off of it. In the time it focused on getting her off of it, the other guards already took advantage and attacked again. The dragon roared in pain as its blood stained the weapons of several guards at once, before swinging its head to get the warriors away from it. As the stepped backwards, away from the group, it arched its neck back, growling.

"Get down!" Lydia shouted at the top of her lungs, throwing herself to the ground. The Companions, who knew her, did just as she told, along with many other guards. Those who did not get down, unaware of the danger, were immediately engulfed by flames. Lydia shut her eyes, feeling the searing flames pass overhead, hoping not to get burnt.

Once the dragon's fire stopped, everyone stood up again to keep fighting, but the dragon had already taken advantage of the vulnerability of the majority of the guards. Its jaws caught an unfortunate Whiterun guard, a sickening crunch sounding as the jaws crushed the man's bones. As the dragon shook the guard in its mouth to ensure he was dead, the other guards took advantage to attack the dragon once more, slashing and stabbing at the scaly hide. The dragon tossed the corpse away, and kept the other guards at a distance with another head swing, but the archers simply pelted it with more arrows, out of range of its head.

Finally, the dragon seemed to know that it was not going to win such a fight, being outnumbered. It retreated back into the air, its giant wingbeats causing those nearby to stagger backwards from the wind force. The dragon flew high into the air, away from them. Many guards began to cheer in triumph, even a few Companions. Lydia, however, suspected that the fight was not yet over. She looked as the dragon flew farther and farther away… before it turned around, back towards them.

"Everyone! It's coming back!" Commander Caius shouted. The cheering guards and Companions immediately turned their heads, and, upon seeing the dragon flying at them at breakneck speed, and getting faster, they immediately braced themselves for impact. The dragon flew at them, faster than any horse could run, the beast becoming almost a blur as it sped towards them. The dragon growled before opening its mouth for another devastating fire attack.

"_Fus, _**_Ro_**_!"_

A blue shockwave appeared seemingly from out of nowhere, catching everyone by surprise, especially the dragon, when it slammed into the flying beast's flank. The dragon only staggered slightly in midair, mostly out of surprise, but it was enough to interrupt its flight. The dragon abruptly changed its flight path to avoid slamming into the ground, banking sharply to the right.

Everyone looked to see Archer and Balamus standing in the middle of the road, where the shockwave had come from. The snarl on Archer's face could be seen from where he stood. He looked just like the dragon, curling his upper lip back in contempt. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Archer?" said Farkas. "What the hell did he just do?"

"That's the Voice! He Shouted!" Vilkas said in amazement.

The Companions had known that Whiterun's Thane was the Dragonborn, but they had never seen Archer Shout in combat, leading to their surprise.

The dragon, realizing that it was in the presence of a Dragonborn, could not resist the temptation to engage him in direct combat. It banked to one side sharply, so that Archer and Balamus were in the dragon's direct flight path. Everyone watched with increasing worry as they saw the dragon nearing the two of them. Neither Archer nor Balamus moved out of the path of the incoming beast. Balamus began charging a spell in his two hands, waiting for the beast to get closer.

When the dragon was close enough, Balamus let loose his spell. Casting with both hands at once, a fireball the size of a horse flew directly into the dragon's face, causing a bright and fiery explosion when it made impact. The dragon roared in pain from its scorched face, and both the Argonian and Dunmer dove out of the way as it crashed into the ground. The dragon's body scarred the earth as it slid, uplifting dirt and rocks and creating a large dust cloud. As it got up, shakings itself of dirt and rocks, Archer and Balamus charged at the beast. Seeing the two of them fighting the dragon alone, the band of mixed warriors regained their senses, and began charging at the dragon as well.

The dragon snapped its jaws at Archer, who rolled out of the way, quickly retaliating with an axe chop. The dragon turned its head to face Archer again, but it was quickly hit by a Flames spell from the other side. The dragon turned its head and blew fire at Balamus, who put up a powerful magical ward before the flames hit, protecting him from the fire. Archer slashed at the dragon's face with his sword in order to get it away from Balamus.

Changing tactic, the dragon backed away, and faced Archer. Archer ran towards the dragon, whose head darted forwards to meet him. The Argonian jumped to one side, the jaws snapping shut on the air beside him. In the short moment that the dragon's face was right beside Archer, the Argonian thrust his sword at the dragon's eye. The sword thrust missed, and he ended up burying several inches of the blade into the dragon's head instead, just above the eye.

The dragon pulled its head back as it roared in agony, taking Archer's sword with it. It shook its head wildly, the blood pouring out of the wound completely blinding it in one eye, the sword not penetrating the brain. Archer and Balamus both powered up a spell in their hands, and cast the spell on the Dragon's flailing head. The lightning from Archer's sparks spell made contact with the sword, traveling through the blade and into the dragon's cranium, where it began coursing throughout the dragon's entire body, while Balamus' paralysis spell kept the beast from flailing too wildly. The dragon screeched in pain as the magic shocked its brain, powerless under the effect of Balamus' paralysis spell. When Balamus' spell finally wore off and Archer ceased his lightning spell, the Dragon collapsed onto its front wings with a final pained growl, before remaining silent. Archer and Balamus lowered their hands, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of the dead dragon. The guards finally caught up to Archer and Balamus, but they were too late to kill the dragon now. They were, however, just in time to see the dragon's corpse catch flame.

The dragon's scales and skin began to wither away, exposing the ancient bones underneath. Nearly everyone, except those who had seen the spectacle before, gasped as the plethora of lights erupted from the body. Archer froze in shock as the dragon's soul entered his body. While his body had been hardened from combat, Archer was still evidently not used to the feeling of absorbing a dragon's soul. His eyes were shut tight, his neck muscles tightened, and his chest heaved as the foreign energies flowed into him against his will.

At last, the dragon soul lost its hold on Archer, who gasped when he was finally released. He staggered slightly, and Balamus caught his friend before he fell. Archer's legs, while a bit shaky, held him up as he took heavy breaths. Finally regaining his composure, the Argonian stood up straight, and thanked Balamus. He then looked behind him to regard the large crowd of people. Everyone looked at Archer in awe and amazement. Nobody cheered at the sight of the dead dragon, for they were too preoccupied with staring at the Dragonborn of legend instead. Archer's gaze passed over everyone in the crowd, his eyes catching Lydia's for a moment longer than the rest. He turned to the dragon's body and wrenched out his sword from its skull, before turning around to walk away. Balamus followed behind silently.

The Dragonborn made his way directly into the mixed crowd of guards and Companions. Nobody spoke to him as he passed by, some still in shock at how fast the Dragon had been slain by the Argonian, others being shocked by the Dragonborn's ancient power. People got out of Archer's way as he made his path through the crowd, until he stopped next to Lydia.

"Archer, are you alright?" she asked him.

"Yes, I'm just fine," he said. Looking back at the corpse, he inspected the skeleton, now from afar, before returning his gaze towards Lydia. "I think that I've prepared myself long enough. We'll be leaving for Ustengrav in a few days," Archer said.

Lydia nodded. "Yes, My Thane," she said. Archer, satisfied, made his way out of the crowd, walking towards Whiterun.

All of them looked at the retreating form of the Dragonborn, until they heard Commander Caius say, "Alright, men, secure the bodies. I want to know how many men we lost." At once, the other guards went to work, some staring at the Dragonborn's retreating form one last time, before going on to their duties. Now that the battle was won, the other Companions began walking back to Whiterun as well. They spoke amongst themselves, with Vilkas pointing out his dragon-blood stained weapon with pride. Lydia, on the other hand, began searching the group of guards. She finally found Hrogar, distinguishable by his open-face helmet, and walked up to him.

"Not the fearless warrior I imagined, are you, Hrogar?" Lydia said.

"Shut up," Hrogar said.

"I don't blame you, my friend, for being afraid. I know you are not a coward," Lydia said. "It's not every day one has to fight a dragon."

"I never expected to be fighting something from out of a storybook in my career," Hrogar said. "I can hardly believe that a smaller group than ours could've taken one down."

"That's why we've got the Dragonborn," Lydia said.

"Right," Hrogar said. "Well, I've got to get back to work. See you." Hrogar turned to walk away.

"Hold on a moment," Lydia said. Hrogar stopped, and he turned around to look at Lydia. "Now that you've seen my Thane in battle, what do you have to say about him now, Hrogar?" she asked him, a rather smug look on her face.

Hrogar looked at her, and scratched his head awkwardly.

"Well… he can sure kill a dragon," he said. Lydia smiled.

"So he's not just some lizard anymore, is he?" she asked.

"Bah, I haven't got time for this," Hrogar said, waving his hand dismissively.

He walked off, but Lydia didn't prod him any further, choosing to cross her arms as she he walked away instead. She knew that she had shown him how worthy Archer really was. Of course, there were more stubborn Nords out there than Hrogar or even herself, and there were probably some with even more unyielding racist attitudes to go along with it, but at least she knew now that she could prove that her Thane wasn't just some milk-drinking Argonian.

With that matter out of the way, another thought took Lydia's focus, about leaving to Ustengrav. In only a few days, they'd be off once more to their next destination. A mental checklist began to run through her head, roughly outlining the supplies they'd be needing to buy. Healing and magicka potions would be a priority, along with some food, and they'd probably want to buy a cloak for Archer, unless they wanted a repeat of what happened in the Throat of the World. A whetstone or two would be useful too, she thought. Maybe she could also get her hands on some...

She suddenly stopped, and smiled at herself. Was she really getting excited about leaving Whiterun for some old crypt? They must've stayed in Whiterun longer than she thought. She subconsciously flexed her sword arm, hoping that it hadn't gotten flabby while she was mostly inactive in Whiterun. She'd done what she could to keep her shape, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough. Archer said they'd be staying in the city for a few more days, but he never specified how long. It wouldn't matter, though; she could wait a bit longer. While she was here, she may as well get prepared for the upcoming trip. Lydia then broke out into a jog towards Whiterun.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Ri'Dato. The Khajiit was currently having a discussion in the main chamber with Frande and Galthor. "This one is not sure if the Brotherhood is strong enough to let its presence be known."

"I think we've been waiting long enough," said Galthor. "This contract is just what we needed. It's the Brotherhood's return to power! We're in a deep pit, my friend, and this contract is our ladder out of it. Haven't you been waiting for something like this too?" asked the wood elf. The Khajiit crossed his arms.

"This one has been waiting patiently for the opportunity to rejuvenate our organization," said the Khajiit, "but do you not think that this is not a bit too… grand? Or flamboyant? If we're going through with this, we want to send the right message."

"Of course not!" said Frande. "Don't let yourself be blind to a perfect opportunity for us to grow, Ri'Dato; we need something big like this to send our message. In the world we live in, no good can come of hesitation."

"There is a fine line between hesitation and caution, Frande," the Khajiit said cooly.

"Yes, there is reason in caution, but we can't afford to waste much more time," said Galthor. "Many people are afraid because of what happened to our long-since dead Grand Champion of the Arena, but many refuse to believe that this was done by our group. There's been rumors going around that he was killed by the ghost of one of the arena combatants he killed."

The Khajiit raised an eyebrow at the wood elf. "Really?" he asked in disbelief.

Galthor shrugged. "It's preposterous, but it's what they believe."

"Which is why we need to do this," said Frande, resting his weight on the table with his arms. Ri'Dato looked between the wood elf and the Breton, and sat back into his chair.

"Well, I don't think we'll be getting any opportunities like this any time soon, so we might as well," he said, putting his feet up on the table. "But… who are we going to send out to do this contract?" he asked.

Galthor and Frande looked to each other, before Frande replied: "We were thinking about sending Varan."

The Khajiit's ears perked as he recognized the name. "Ah, our resident Shadowscale. A wise choice," he said. "He's certain to do well on this contract. I have faith in him."

"Yes, well, we've also been hoping that we could promote him to Speaker," said Galthor. Ri'Dato looked at him with a critical glare.

"Are you sure you want to promote him to Spearker?" asked Ri'Dato.

"Of course we do," said Galthor. "We need another Speaker to complete this incomplete Black Hand. None of the other assassins in this sanctuary have as much skill and promise as him."

Ri'Dato was silent for a moment. "I advise caution with promoting the Argonian to Speaker. He may seem loyal, but we've had loyal people in this organization turn on their own Brothers and Sisters before, and there's nothing to say it can't happen again."

Galthor thought for a moment, and sighed. "You're probably right, but I still believe he's worthy of being a Speaker. We should give him some test of loyalty at some point to prove himself."

"That would be best," Ri'Dato said. "Now, that aside, have you told him yet about the contract?"

Galthor shook his head. "No, we haven't," he said. "I'll call him in here."

Galthor stood up, and walked out of the room. He made his way over to where he was most likely to find the Argonian, in the training room. Before he even got there, he could hear the loud clacking of wooden practice weapons being struck against each other from inside the room. When he got there, Galthor was unsurprised to see that Ghamul had summoned his Dremora Lord, and was now watching it spar with Varan. The Argonian and Daedra were fighting each other with the wooden practice weapons, Varan wielding a one-handed sword, similar in weight to his real weapon, as was the Dremora. Galthor cleared his throat, and called out to Varan.

"Varan," he said, his voice clearly audible over the wooden clacking. Varan put his hand up to stop, and the Daedra ceased his offense. The Dremora went to put the wooden weapon back, while Varan turned to face Galthor.

"Yes, sir?" asked Varan, holding his wooden weapon at his side. His chest was heaving from the exercise, but he showed no sign of fatigue. Standing face-to-face, the Argonian was about a full head taller than the wood elf, who had to look up at the Argonian's face.

"Please, come with me," said Galthor, turning back to the hall. Varan quickly put his practice weapon away, and followed him out. The two walked back to the discussion hall, where the others were waiting. Upon entering, Varan closed the door behind him, and stood before the three members of the black hand. Ri'Dato and Frande stood upon their entrance, and Galthor took his spot between the two other Black Hand members.

"Good to have you join us, Varan," said Frande. The Argonian looked curiously between the three assassins before him.

"What was it that you wanted me for?" asked Varan.

"We've been wanting to tell you something," said Ri'Dato. "We have something… special in mind for you," he said, smiling to himself.

"We've got this contract that we think is perfect for you to carry out," said Galthor. "It's not going to be easy, but we think you're more than capable of accomplishing this."

"Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll make sure I do it," Varan said.

"Well, we want you to-"

The door suddenly opened from behind Varan. The Argonian stepped aside, allowing the three others see what was happening. In the doorway stood another Dark Brotherhood member, a large Redguard man. He was holding another man's hands behind his back, a black bag over his head. The bag-headed man wore dark leather armor on his body, similar to the one that the other assassins wore.

"I caught this one out in the well entrance," said the Dark Brotherhood member. "Man says that he's from the Dark Brotherhood. I don't believe him, so I brought him here."

"Dark Brotherhood?" said Galthor. He walked up to the restrained man, and grabbed the black bag over his head. He pulled the bag off, revealing the black-and-red scaled Argonian's face underneath.

The Argonian calmly looked around at the surrounding congregation of assassins, not seeming the least bit afraid of his current circumstances. Frande stepped forward.

"Alright, you, I don't know how you found out about this sanctuary," said the Breton, sounding annoyed, "but I guarantee you that you will not be leaving this place alive, as long as you know this place." He pulled out his knife, but held it to his side, ready to strike in case of anything. "Tell us right now why we should let you live."

The Argonian's calm reply came: "Because you wouldn't want to incur the wrath of our Dread Lord Sithis for killing a Dark Brother, would you?"

Frande smirked in amusement. "Dark Brother, eh? What makes you think you're one of us?" he asked.

"I wear the Dark Brotherhood armor, do I not?" asked the Argonian.

"Anybody can wear armor. I could wear a horse blanket, but would that make me a horse?" Galthor asked. "Wearing black leather armor doesn't make you a Dark Brotherhood assassin. We're going to need more solid proof than some armor."

"Hold on one moment," said Ri'Dato, putting his hand up to stop the others. He put his other hand to his chin, thinking. The room was silent for a moment. Ri'Dato lowered his hands, and looked at the Argonian. Slowly and deliberately, Ri'Dato spoke: "What… is Life's greatest guardian?" he asked.

The Dark Brotherhood had a number of riddles which only their organization knew the answer to. Such riddles were used to verify membership upon entering a sanctuary the first time. Realizing what Ri'Dato was doing, the other Dark Brotherhood assassins immediately turned their attention to the unknown Argonian. The room was silent with bated breath as they awaited the Argonian's response.

The Argonian smiled, revealing rows of sharp, needle-like teeth, before answering, "Solitude, My Brother."

The room was silent. The other assassins looked at each other, not knowing if the Argonian had answered correctly. Looking at the Khajiit, they all saw Ri'Dato's eyebrows raised in apparent surprise. Then, they saw him smile.

"Welcome home, Brother," said the Khajiit. The others looked back to the Argonian, who simply smiled back in self-assuredness.

"It is good to find another of our Dark Family in this land," said Ri'Dato. The Khajiit signaled for the other assassin to let go of the Argonian. The Redguard promptly followed orders, letting go of the newly-verified assassin's wrists, before lumbering away. The Argonian gratefully rubbed his wrists where the assassin had been gripping him like a vice, preventing any previous attempt to escape his grasp.

"So he _is_ one of us?" asked Galthor, sounding skeptical.

"It would appear to be so," said Ri'Dato. "Only the Brotherhood has the answers to such riddles." He looked to Frande, and gestured for him to put away his weapon. The Breton complied, sheathing his sword back into place.

"I don't believe we've made proper introductions," said the Argonian. "My name is Han-Zo."

"This one is called Ri'Dato," said the Khajiit.

"Frande," the Breton said simply.

"My name's Galthor," said the Bosmer. Signaling to Varan, he said, "And this here is one of our most esteemed assassins-"

"Oh, I already know who he is," Han-Zo said. The three Speakers of the Black Hand gave Han-Zo strange looks. The Argonian turned his head to look at Varan. "You still remember me, don't you?" he asked him. Varan looked at Han-Zo, before crossing his arms.

"Indeed I do," said the Shadowscale. "You were one of the people who was trying to restart the Shadowscale operations." The three other assassins in the room looked at Han-Zo in surprise.

"So it was you who tried bringing back the Shadowscales?" asked Frande.

Han-Zo nodded once. "I was part of the group. I did not act alone. Of course, that plan's failed, for the most part," said the Argonian, "But I see that my efforts were not completely in vain. One of the Shadowscales is still alive, and here with us."

"What happened to the operation?" asked Galthor.

The Argonian sighed sadly, and said, "We were training one day in our secret training center, near Cheydinhal. We were suddenly attacked by Imperial guards. I don't know how we were discovered. To this day, I wonder who could've told them where we were. We were unprepared for such a surprise attack. We fought them off, but we knew that more would come, so we all began packing things up and leaving, but we weren't sure where to go. We didn't head north to Skyrim, for obvious reasons, and we couldn't go into Morrowind, because the mountains would pose too much of an obstacle, especially with how close to winter it was."

"So where did you go?" asked Galthor. Varan was silently leaning back on a wooden wall, most likely remembering the events described by Han-Zo. They had to remember than Varan was part of this too.

"We headed South, to Leyawiin," Han-Zo said. "The guards followed us, however, for several days. We had to either stop and rest, and risk getting overwhelmed or surrounded, or keep moving, to the point of near exhaustion. All of the Shadowscales that remained kept moving, clearing many miles every day as we evaded the guards. Either way, we had to fight them off in a number of skirmishes. We eventually figured that we weren't going to lose them in Leyawiin, and decided to head to Black Marsh, where it would be safe. We almost got there too. As it turned out, another detachment of guards, probably from Leyawiin, intercepted us before we reached the border of Black Marsh. We fought them off as best as we could, but we were tired from the relentless retreat. They killed most of us. The rest surrendered to the guards. I was one of the few who managed to slip away undetected. So was Varan, as it seems."

"So why are you here with us now?" asked Ri'Dato.

"Why do you think?" Han-Zo asked. "My loyalties lie with the Brotherhood. When I found out that this place existed, I knew I needed to join your ranks, in hopes of assisting our Organization's prosperity in the near future." Varan's gaze on the other Argonian visibly intensified, but he did not utter another word. The other assassins looked at each other for their thoughts.

"I think he should be allowed to join us," said Galthor.

"Well, we could always use some more members," Frande mumbled.

"And he is the one who trained the Shadowscales," Ri'Dato said. "If Varan's skill is any evidence of his ability as a teacher, then we could definitely find a good use for him to train some of the newer recruits."

"So it is decided, then," said Galthor.

Han-Zo gratefully bowed his head. "Thank you, good sirs. I will put my skills to good use."

"Go speak to Nathaniel, he will show you to an empty room," said Frande.

"Which one is he?" asked Han-Zo. Frande smirked.

"The big guy who restrained you and brought you here."

"Ah. Right. Such a nice man," Han-Zo commented rather sarcastically. He turned, and exited the room. Once he left, the four of them faced each other again.

"Right, well, now that we've taken care of that matter," said Galthor, "It's time to inform you of your next contract."

"What do I have to do?" asked Varan. Galthor looked to Frande, and the Breton pulled out a manuscript. He handed it over to Galthor, who then gave it to Varan.

"Your contract," said the Bosmer as Varan unravelled the paper, "is Ultim Vigilem, the Guard Captain of the Imperial City. You must kill him, but then you must send a warning to his successor."

Varan carefully read over the contract. His golden eyes ran over the words slowly, taking in all the information. He rolled up the paper once more, and held it at his side. He looked up again, back to his employers.

"Consider him dead," said Varan.

"A word of advice, Varan," said Ri'Dato. "Ultim knows that he is being hunted. He will not be vulnerable to attack most of the time. He is always with his guards at every point of the day. I would advise you to take another one of our assassins with you to accomplish this." Varan remained silent, thinking for a moment.

"Ghamul will be accompanying me on this contract, then," said Varan.

"Tell him that, and get moving, the two of you," said Frande. "The sooner this gets done, the better."

Varan bowed his head, and promptly left the room, closing the door behind him as he went.

* * *

Varan had been to the Imperial City a few times before, but he'd only been there one other time while on a contract. Looking at it from afar, and seeing the large stone walls of the city, surrounded by a natural moat, he instinctively began to recall what he knew about the city he was about to infiltrate. He knew that the Imperial city was the largest in all of Cyrodiil, for one. It was also one of the most heavily-defended as well, being the city with the largest, and not to mention, well-trained, guard force in the province. He also knew that the Imperial City also boasted its reputation of having the best prison. Nobody ever got out of the Imperial Prison alive, except maybe the Champion of Cyrodiil, if the tales were to be believed. If they got caught, which Varan highly doubted, then they'd be sent there. It might have been daytime, so they would be much more visible than at night, but he wouldn't let that stop him from fulfilling his contract.

"So where do you think our contract's at?" asked Ghamul.

"I'd have to guess that he's doing rounds in the city, inspecting his guards," Varan said.

"Or in his chamber, doing paperwork," Ghamul said. "I've heard people say that with each promotion in the guard, it's more about paperwork and politics and less about actual fighting."

"Frande and the others told me that he's always surrounded by guards," said Varan. "I doubt that they'd have so many bodyguards for an Imperial secretary. He's likely still a fighting man, and a damn good one too. He used to be an Imperial Centurion, from what I've learned."

"And with all his guards 'round him, it looks like we'll to deal with them at some point, too," said Ghamul, subconsciously running his hand over his custom mace.

"We'll deal with them when the time comes," said Varan. "Come on, let's go."

They began to make their way into the Imperial City, entering through the Gold Road on the West side, since there were few other ways to enter the city except by crossing the body of water that surrounded the island. It was what made the city so impossibly defendable against a ground invasion. Just like the outer appearance it gave off, the inside of the Imperial City was just as grand. Giant white stone walls curved around the inside of the circle-shaped city. The streets were large and wide, also curving to follow the generally circular shape of the city. White stone pillars held up the buildings, ornately designed in the standard Imperial fashion.

As the two of them made their way through, they were aware of the guards appearing at regular intervals, giving curious looks to the Argonian and Orc wearing black leather armor. The Dark Brotherhood had been mostly forgotten, and those who ever got to learn that the armor belonged to the order of assassins were quickly slain. The only people who ever found out about the Brotherhood were its victims, right before they were killed. The guards eventually turned their attention back to patrolling.

The two of them looked around, and silently agreed to split up. They walked around the current city district they were in, but they only saw typical Imperial soldiers, none of them a higher rank than the standard guard. They eventually met up again where they started off.

"Didja see him?" asked Ghamul. Varan shook his head.

"Only a bunch of standard guards. He might be near the center of the city," Varan said.

The two of them made their way to the center of the city, where they saw a large number of people all walking about their daily lives. Nobody was expecting a disturbance on such a quiet day as this one. The two of them went to one side and pretended to have a conversation to draw attention away from themselves. At the same time, they slowly scanned each face that passed by in them, hoping to detect their next victim.

"Think I see him," said Ghamul, pointing towards a small group of guards. There were about 4 guards, but three of them wore the standard Imperial guard armor. The last guard had an especially ornate-looking helmet with a large red crest, symbolizing his rank. Only a Guard Captain would wear such a helmet.

"That's him, alright," said Varan. His hand rested on his sword's hilt, but he did not make a move yet. There were too many guards around him, he'd be seen coming. As much as Varan would've liked, he knew that he couldn't engage the Captain in single combat without getting killed, simply because of the guards around him who would interfere. He'd have to do a stealthy takedown.

"How do we get ta him?" Ghamul asked silently. Varan thought for a moment. He looked around, thinking.

"I've got an idea," said Varan. "I'm going to go hide behind the pillar over there. When I give you the signal, I want you to attract Ultim's attention. He'll come to investigate, and when his back is turned, I'll take him out."

"Alright, sounds good," said Ghamul. Varan looked around, then proceeded to slowly make his way to the pillar. He walked up to it, and, making sure that nobody was paying attention, stood right beside it, out of the guards' sight. He looked towards Ghamul and nodded once. Ghamul nodded back. The Orc looked around, trying to find something to cause a distraction. He saw a heavily armored man, probably looking to go the Imperial City's arena, walking towards where he stood. Ghamul walked in his opposite direction, and purposefully bumped into him forcefully.

"Hey, watch where you're going, Orc!" said the man, his slightly Nordic accent revealing his race.

"It's not my fault you bumped into me, Ice-brain," said Ghamul.

"What was that?!" the Nord asked, quickly getting angry.

"What, was the remark not fitting for your kind?" asked Ghamul tauntingly. "Maybe you'd prefer to be called Cave-Dweller? It certainly fits well with the sort of brutes your kind are."

"Watch yourself, you puke-colored scumbag," the Nord growled venomously.

By now the other people walking by were looking at the Orc and Nord argue, some in amusement, others with some fear about the possible outbreak of violent conflict. The two went on insulting each other, the Nord quickly losing his temper. The guards quickly caught wind of a possible disturbance, and made their way towards Ghamul. They eventually became part of the watching crowd, but when the Nord pulled out a rather large knife on Ghamul, Ultim stepped forward.

"Enough, both of you," said Ultim. "Return to your activities at once." The man was rather large, and sported heavy Imperial armor. He was as tall as Ghamul, which was big for an Imperial.

"My 'activities' now involve cutting this Orc open," the Nord growled, holding his knife at his side, ready to attack.

"Sir, put the weapon away, or I'll be forced to take you to in," said Ultim. The Guard captain turned to Ghamul. "And you too. I don't want to send you to jail, but I'll do it if I have to." Ghamul quickly glanced behind the captain, and saw Varan sneaking up from behind, still a few yards away. The thick crowd was blocking him, so he couldn't move any faster without drawing attention. He had to distract him a bit longer.

Ghamul snorted. "I'm not afraid of some crest-wearing Imperial," he said. The quick-tempered Nord had already lumbered off towards the Arena district, but the crowd of spectating townspeople stayed to watch what would happen between the Orc in black leather and the Guard Captain of the Imperial City.

"Careful, _Orc,_ that's the Guard Captain you're speaking to!" said a guard.

"Does it look like I care?" the Orc said. "You guards are all the same to me."

"Sir, walk away right now," Ultim said with a threatening undertone which would make any other normal person back off. "Or I swear, I will send you to the jail." Ghamul was unfazed.

"For what? Speaking freely in public?" asked Ghamul.

"For disturbing the peace," Ultim said. "Now, I'm giving you one last chance. Either get out of here now, or It's off the the cell for you."

"Such ponderous words for a soon-to-be dead man," said Ghamul, the corner of his mouth curving upwards into a smirk.

Before Ultim could say anything, Varan was behind him, his clawed hand over the Imperial's throat. In another instant, Ultim's throat was slashed open, the dark red blood pouring out of the fatal wound. Ultim's eyes widened, and a hand went up to hold his throat, where he had been cut, before he fell forwards. There was a resonating clang as his armored body made contact with the cobblestone floor, now painted with red as well. The people were quick to react.

"ASSASSIN!" shouted a townsman.

Varan heard three swords unsheathing from their scabbards, and quickly dodged to one side, avoiding a slash from two Imperial swords. The third guard ran up to Varan head-on, but a black gauntleted hand grabbed the back of his neck. The guard cried in surprise as Ghamul yanked the guard backwards and onto the floor with a strength that Orcs were infamous for. On the ground, on his back, and caught off-guard, the man could only watch his final moments in life as Ghamul stepped over him, before sending his mace into his skull.

The guard's helmet did little to stop the Orichalcum-forged weapon, a special kind of iron which was found naturally in the Orcish homeland, stronger than most kinds of steel. His face was immediately caved in and reduced to a bloody mess. Ghamul quickly pulled his mace out to face the other guard, while Varan faced off with the last one. The Imperial ran at Varan, swinging his sword overhead, but Varan grabbed his arm in mid-swing. The two of them struggled over the weapon. Varan suddenly let go of the weapon, causing the guard to stumble backwards. Before the man could recover, Varan grabbed his head and shoulder and pulled them apart. The crowd then gasped in horror at the sight of the Argonian clamping his jaws down on the guard's throat like a ravenous predator.

The guard cried out in pain as Varan shook his head in an attempt to bite open the man's windpipe. The Argonian did not stop, even as the taste of blood filled his mouth. In his panic, the guard had dropped his weapon and the only thing that could have possibly saved him. Varan felt the guard's struggles cease, and after a mere few moments, he pushed the man off of him, letting the now-dead guard fall to the floor, his throat torn open.

Quickly wiping his mouth in disgust, Varan turned his head just in time to watch the last guard's head burst open in a mess of skull fragments and brain matter as Ghamul's powerful mace made contact with the side of his head. The body limply fell to the floor, and immediately, they heard the clanking of armor as more guards approached.

"Go, get out of here," Varan said silently. "I'll distract them. Get out of the city."

Ghamul immediately followed his advice, and ran to one direction. Varan, on the other hand, readied a fire bolt spell in one hand, and, thinking quickly, he also picked up Ultim's helmet and held it under his arm. When he saw the guards approach, he charged up, then let loose a fire bolt at them. The fire deflected off of an Imperial shield harmlessly, and caught the attention of the throng of guards that had assembled. They immediately began pursuing Varan, who quickly turned tail and ran. He charged through the crowds of people, roughly pushing aside anybody who got in front of him.

He saw the exit to the district ahead, but the archway was suddenly filled with guards as well. The walls were too steep to climb, with few natural crevices to cling onto, so he couldn't climb his way out of danger. Varan abruptly turned to one side, into another street, this one having few people, none of them noticing him. The moment he was out of their sight, Varan ran behind a pillar and summoned the Moonshadow power, the power bestowed upon him from birth, as a result of being born under the Birthsign of the Shadow. In an instant, his body was covered by the power of the Shadow, producing an effect astonishingly close to full invisibility.

Another instant later, the guards arrived to the street from both sides. They stopped, and looked around, searching for Varan, not suspecting that he was protected by invisibility. Most city guards didn't know much magic, so Varan doubted that they'd be able to find him with a detect life spell. They began to slowly walk into the street, their heads turning to all angles, looking for him. Quietly, holding the Guard Captain's helmet carefully in his hands, Varan made his way out of his hiding place, and out of the street entirely. He saw a bunch of other guards rushing to another district, possibly in search of Ghamul, but he suspected that the Orc had already escaped.

He could have left the city now, but one matter of business still had to be taken care of. Varan turned his sights to one of the town maps posted on a wall, where he could likely find his way to the Barracks. Since all the guards were on high alert, most of them would probably be out looking for the Guard Captain's assassins. Still invisible, he made his way inside. He perused the map for a few moments, and located the barracks, not too far away. He finally found it, and went inside the first door. He carefully peeked his head through the doorway, but there was nobody around to see him. Regardless, Varan cautiously made his way through the barracks, looking down the hallways in case any guards happened by.

He finally came across a door with the Imperial emblem on it, likely the Guard Captain's quarters, and pushed it open. The inside had a desk and several bookshelves, with the desk having numerous piles of paperwork on it. There was also a convenient window that looked out into the water surrounding the island city. Now that he was here, he could finish up the contract.

Varan grabbed the Guard Captain's blood-spattered steel helmet and placed it on the desk. He then pulled out a parchment with the symbol of the black hand on it, and placed it beside the helmet. It would serve to be the Dark Brotherhood's calling card, and a warning to the next promoted Guard Captain. Varan, on a second thought, pulled out his dagger. He grabbed the parchment with the Black Hand on it, and then put it against the side of the helmet. He then stabbed the parchment with his dagger. The dagger penetrated the helmet at a weaker point, effectively pinning the parchment against the helmet. Varan inspected his work, and smiled. This would definitely be an effective warning to the guard community of Cyrodiil, and it would be a warning that the Black Hand of Cyrodiil would be proud of, because it sent their message, strong and clear: They were no longer weak. The Dark Brotherhood was strong again. Nobody is safe anymore.

**End A/N: Well, there it is! Hope you all enjoyed! As usual, reviews are much appreciated and every one is read! Questions and commends are welcome! Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated too; I can't get better if I don't get some criticism!**


	12. Initiation

**A/N: Hey guys. I'm sorry again about the long wait, but things get in the way oftentimes. For those of you who are patient to put up with my uploads, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Anyways, I hope you guys have been enjoying your Spring Break (for those who have it), and also, I've put up Balamus' picture for those of you who are curious to see what he looks like in-game. The link to the picture is in my profile page, so go check it out! I'll hopefully have one up for Varan at some point. **

"This is simply wonderful," said Galthor. He, along with Frande, was reading from some papers in the dining room of the Kvatch Sanctuary.

"Yeah, it looks like we got exactly what we wanted when we went through this," said Frande.

Just then, Ri'Dato passed by and caught sight of the two reading.

"What is it that you two are so intrigued about?" asked the Khajiit.

"See for yourself," said Galthor, handing over his copy of the papers.

Ri'Dato accepted them, and he immediately recognized them as the papers from the Black Horse courier, the most recent edition, in fact. However, what really caught his attention were the big bold letter written on the front of the newspaper.

Quoting, he read aloud: "Tragedy in the Imperial City! Ultim Vigilem, the Guard Captain of the Imperial City, has recently been murdered in cold blood by two men garbed in black leather armor… Ultim's successor has also reportedly found the Guard Captain's helmet with a calling card featuring a Black Hand in the Guard Captain's quarters, with a knife embedded into the helmet to serve as a warning. Though it is difficult to believe, most officials fear that the Dark Brotherhood is on the rise, if they do not already roam Cyrodiil freely…" Ri'Dato finished reading and looked up from the newspaper. "Of course you realize that we must be much more careful now, yes?" he asked the two other Speakers. "Our organization can find uses for such publicity, but we must be careful we do not show too much of ourselves. We've struggled too long to fail now because we put ourselves into the light one time."

"You are completely correct on that," said Galthor. "But as you've said, we've found use for our 'publicity', as you say. Now that more people know we still exist, more people will be willing to try and call for our services. The Listener may have perished long ago, but we can still get contracts from word-of-mouth pretty well."

"We might also be able to link up with any remaining branches of the Brotherhood soon," said Frande, "like the one in Skyrim. If our ranks become bolstered enough, we could maybe send over some recruits, grow the Brotherhood across Tamriel… perhaps even find the Brotherhood's next Listener."

"You are thinking very grand ideas, my friend," Ri'Dato told him, "but putting them to action will need more thought. When the time comes, and when we have our last Speaker, then we can continue the search for our Listener."

"And when we find him, we can send 'em over to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in Skyrim to Listen to the Night Mother," said Frande.

"How would we know when we've found our Listener?" asked Galthor.

"They will hear a voice in their head, the Night Mother's voice, and they'll hopefully say something about it," said Ri'Dato. "If they can name the Binding Words to us, then we know he is not deceiving us. Let us occupy ourselves with that matter when the time comes, my friends. Now, let us hope that good fortune comes to us in the future."

Unknown to the three, Varan had been listening in to their conversation, standing in the hallway leading to the room, still out of sight. He found it surprising how quickly the Black Horse courier worked. After looking around their agreed rendezvous point and finding Ghamul, their trip back to Kvatch had taken them only about two or so nights. Of course, news of this urgency would have prompted an almost immediate response, and the Black Horse Courier had some impressive steeds to carry their paper-deliverers around Cyrodiil.

He had been the one to kill Ultim, and he had done it out of loyalty for the Brotherhood, but he still wondered if they were at a good state to be commanding the fear of the citizens of Cyrodiil. There'd be searches going around the province looking for them, he thought, but they'd never find them here in Kvatch. Or at least, he hoped they wouldn't be found. Memories of the Shadowscales and of their final moments came back to him, the memories of many of his comrades in battle, how each fought and died valiantly, fighting for what they believed was right, for what they believed was to be treasured most: their Dark Family, and each other.

"I've heard about what you did in the Imperial City," said a smooth voice behind Varan.

"You along with half of Cyrodiil by now," said Varan, not turning to see who it was. He already knew.

"Doing an assassination like that, in the middle of the day, in the Imperial City, and still managing to avoid the guards," Han-Zo said. "By all means, that was impressive."

"It was a dirty job and I caught more attention than I probably should have, but I didn't leave any tracks behind me, at least."

"Doesn't matter. It seems that I trained you well. I'm proud of you, Varan."

Varan froze in the spot. He stood up straight. Very slowly, and very deliberately, Varan turned his head, then the rest of his body, to look at Han-Zo standing in the hallway. His arms were crossed, and a smirk marked his reptilian features. Varan eyed him carefully.

"What did you say?" Varan asked quietly, yet forcefully.

"I said, I am _proud of you_."

Within the next moment, Varan was right at Han-Zo, his claws at the Argonian's throat, who hadn't moved from his spot. The assassin's speed was enough to surprise anyone, Han-Zo included, but he didn't show any sign of fear as Varan pressed his claws against his throat. He didn't even attempt to push Varan off of him.

"Shut your mouth you worthless cur," Varan replied venomously. "Give me one good reason right now why I shouldn't kill you on the spot." He tightened the pressure of his claws on the other Argonian's throat for emphasis.

"You'd incur the wrath of our Dread Lord, and that of the Speakers," Han-Zo replied.

"I said, give me one _good_ reason," Varan responded. "The world wouldn't miss one more Argonian, especially one like you."

"Well what would killing me do, undo your history?" Han-Zo asked. "Or exact revenge? Is that it? What would you want revenge for? For me making you an able assassin?" Varan was silent, but he kept his gaze locked onto the other Argonian.

"Why would you be proud of me?" Varan hissed lowly. "I could never forgive you for what you've done." Varan bared his fangs. "How dare you say you were proud of me, knowing what you've done to me!" He spoke with as much strength as he could without making too much noise; he didn't want anybody interrupting. "What you did was terrible. You made me… into an unfeeling killer."

"I didn't make you into just a killer, I made you what you are today," Han-Zo said. "I trained you, and I made you strong, I made you fast, I made you smart, and whether you like it or not, it's because of _me_ that you're one of the most dangerous assassins in the history of the Dark Brotherhood."

Varan hissed dangerously, his golden eyes boring into Han-Zo's bronze ones. The pressure on Han-Zo's throat lightened, however, but only slightly.

"You made me strong. Powerful, even. That is true," Varan said quietly. "But I never chose to be. You chose for me. I never wanted to become an assassin, I never wanted to be part of your cause, but I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. I don't care if I become the most dangerous man in the history of the world, or the most powerful. If it's at the cost of my childhood, my parents, my normal life… then it's something I wished I'd never had."

Don't be so dramatic, Varan," Han-Zo said. "You don't hate this life. Otherwise you'd never have become such a loyal member of the Brotherhood."

Varan looked at Han-Zo with silent contempt. "You're right, I don't hate this life," Varan said. "I have companionship, and I have a Family here. With all my successful contracts, I have enough gold to drink noble-quality wine for the rest of my days if I really wanted to. I've worked and lived for this Family for a long time, and I have no thoughts about being disloyal to the only Family I now have, but still… I'd gladly give up this life, if I could."

"Then why don't you?" asked Han-Zo. "Why not just leave this place, and never come back? You're trusted outside the Sanctuary, and you could always just fake your death. Why not just go? Nobody's stopping you."

Varan narrowed his eyes threateningly at Han-Zo, the black slits in his eyes getting wider with anger. Then, the pressure of his claws on Han-Zo's throat eased up, much more than before. He removed his claws from Han-Zo's throat and stepped back, away from him, not once removing his glare.

Varan lowered his head in solemn thought, and very slowly, and very deliberately, he answered: "Because this life is all I know."

Then, he walked forwards, storming past Han-Zo. His feet led him into the training room. At this time, it was empty. The other assassins were either on contracts or doing something else in the sanctuary. He knew Ghamul had decided to go rest in his room when they returned, so Varan had the combat dummies and training targets all to himself. He went to the striking bag and stood before it. He curled his hand into a fist, then launched the fist at the bag. The bag let out a satisfying thump as his fist connected, and it felt good. He hit it again, then again, and continued punching the bag, venting out all his violent frustration on the defenseless stuffing-filled target.

He hated Han-Zo with a passion, he despised him for a number of reasons. He had been one of the ones who came to take the future "recruits" to the hidden training camp in Cyrodiil, where Varan could have sworn that the lizard purposefully treated him more harshly than the other trainees. He had taken him away, he had forced him to learn to fight and sneak, and in doing so, he had taken any chance of having a normal life with it. Not once had he seen his family since that day, and he could barely remember them now, remember their faces. Varan stopped punching for a moment to catch his breath, and in that short time, Han-Zo's smug face appeared on the bag. Eyes widening in anger, Varan let out another hate-fueled explosive punch at the heavy bag. He had been forced to suffer and fight and learn in his Shadowscale training. Every day he trained, every day he ached, every day he bled. He had no chance of getting away, so he had no choice but to allow himself to be taught and trained.

The bag was starting to swig around because of his violent punching, and his fists were getting tired, but Varan didn't feel it. He had wanted to get away, away from the Shadowscale trainers, but he couldn't. For a while he hoped that something would come to end this. Then the guards attacked. He'd seen so many of his comrades in arms killed before him on that single day. He could never forget that bloodshed-filled day. They'd had to leave their bodies without a proper burial in order to get away. They ran, they ran far, they ran long, they ran away from the guards, but it was all futile in the end. They got caught, and in the mass confusion of battle, he got away. Him and Han-Zo. He could've left then and there. He was right next to Black Marsh, after all. Now, he no longer cared for escape. Why didn't he go back home? Why did he not leave, and stop himself from experiencing the life that he would find himself living in now? The answer seemed simple and irrefutable to him.

All his life he'd been fighting, training to be an assassin, to be a Shadowscale. During his days in training, as he hoped to one day see his parents again, to one day leave the Shadowscales, he befriended the other Argonians taken away as well, along with some of the more seasoned assassins. They'd become his friends, and after a long enough time had elapsed, he didn't want to leave them, either. They suffered through everything he did, they saw what he saw. There was an understanding between them that made them stay together. He dared to call them his friends, and when he had seen them killed before his eyes, he felt broken, because he had nobody to relate to. Everything he'd done in his life was geared towards being an assassin, and now he had no companionship, no company that knew what he felt, he had nobody that was like him, who was a cold-blooded killer like him. He'd heard that there were rumors of the Dark Brotherhood around Kvatch, so that's where he went. That was why he didn't cross the border into Black Marsh. He sought companionship, a sense of feeling like he belonged somewhere. Killing was all he knew. What person would accept someone who only knew how to murder and sneak besides other assassins? Now, he had a Family, he had new Dark Brothers and Sisters, and he enjoyed feeling like he belonged. But he still wished that he could've gone back home.

Besides, It was useless, he thought bitterly. He couldn't remember where exactly he was born, what his parents' faces looked like, or even what life before the Shadowscales was like. He punched the bag faster now, snarling in contempt. Han-Zo's face was still smugly grinning in the bag. It was because of him, because of Han-Zo, that he had this life. If he wanted to go back home now, it would never work. Surely, his parents would never accept him now, as a murderer, if he were to somehow manage to find them. He could never fit into society. He could never leave his Dark Family. He could never have _a normal life._

With a feral hiss, Varan slashed the bag diagonally, then slashed again with his other hand's claws, before letting out a final frustrated roar and slashing into the bag sideways. His claws cut through the tough sack with ease, and the stuffing fell out. Varan stood still, his only body movement being his heavy breathing from his exertions. His face was contorted into a hateful scowl. As his shoulders rose and fell with each breath, Varan noticed his palms feeling wet. He turned his hands palm-up and looked at them. Scarlet wounds marked where his claws had dug into his own skin, cutting through the scales easily. He had let his emotions get the better of him, he thought. How unusual.

Stepping slowly over the slashed-open bag's stuffing, Varan walked across the room to the hallway, where he could go back to his room. He silently made his way across the hallway and to his room. He opened the door and closed it behind him quietly. He went to his cabinet and opened it, pulling out some bandages that he kept there just in case. He grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around his hands. His mind wandered again. Yes, he didn't completely like the life he was living right now, and he believed that Han-Zo was terrible for doing what he did to him, but he was right: it was because of him that he was this strong and unbreakable. Could a life with his parents have made him like this? Probably not, he thought. He was also comfortably wealthy, and in decent company. He appreciated the active lifestyle that he led, that was certain, and his time with the Dark Brotherhood changed the way he looked at the organization as a whole. It wasn't just an organization of murderers, they were professionals, and what's more, they weren't cold blooded killers; the Brotherhood had been called upon several times in the past to kill someone that somebody considered necessary of killing for justice: Pirate Captains, Bandit Leaders, and the like, but that wasn't all. They were a Family, almost like any other, brought together by Principles they held sacred, rather than by blood, even if the original founding principles were barely enforced or followed these days. So no, he didn't dislike the life he was living, but he still wondered what life without the Dark Brotherhood would've been like for him. Varan finished placing the bandages on his hands and sighed. He may have been abducted and forced to become a skilled assassin, but at least his brother did not have to share the same fate.

When the Shadowscales arrived at his village in Black Marsh, Varan remembered dimly, they took him, but they tried to take his brother as well. Although Varan could barely remember, he could recall that they had both been born under the sign of the Shadow, so both of them were the Shadowscale targets. He remembered waking up to the feeling of having a rope tied around his jaws, clamping his mouth shut. He remembered seeing the kidnappers making their way towards where his brother slept, and how he struggled in his assailant's grasp. He remembered wrenching his hand free of his kidnapper's grasp, quickly ripping off the rope with his still-developing claws, and crying out his brother's name, "San-Kel!" Then the rope was put around his mouth again, and his hands were then tied down too, as he listened to his brother struggle in the grasp of the other kidnapper…

Varan shut his eyes. He didn't want to be thinking of this anymore. He wondered, though, how his brother was doing. He was taken away from Black Marsh like he was, but halfway through the journey, he managed to slip away. San-Kel got away from them, he had made sure of it - it was why Han-Zo treated him so harshly as a recruit. His hand idly ran over the scar on his face, the one that Han-Zo had given to him during a training session. The Argonian had claimed it was an "accident of training," but Varan knew it was intentional. His brother may have been spared his same fate, but Varan didn't know what became of him. Was he able to find his way back home to Black Marsh? Or did he go the wrong way and end up in Cyrodiil instead? Maybe he never found civilization again, and was killed by some wild animal. Afraid of the answer he'd get, Varan hoped that he'd never find out, but he silently hoped that his brother had managed to get back home to Black Marsh.

Varan had to wonder: if he'd see him again, would San-Kel recognize him? Would he recognize San-Kel, too? He could still remember slightly what he looked like: he had developing green scales, only a shade or two lighter than his, two still-growing, straight pointed horns on his head instead of the curved ones he had, and golden eyes, just like he did. Normal Argonians usually had bronze, green, or light blue colored eyes, among others, but very few had golden eyes like the two of them did. It was what made them different from all the other Argonians, for it was an ancestral trait in their family. Maybe San-Kel would remember him, Varan thought idly. From his hazy childhood, he could remember that they were the two happiest brothers, before they were separated. It surprised him that he could barely remember such happy times, but he knew better than anybody in the Sanctuary that it was easier to remember pain than happiness. Pain left scars, but there was nothing that happiness left behind for one to remember it by. Such was the cruel truth of life.

Varan noticed how unnaturally tired he was. His head was hurting from all the thinking, and his eyelids were begging to be shut, to close for a moment, just to rest. He was used to long periods of little sleep, but this felt different. Not feeling like his normal self, he complied with his body's desire for sleep, and closed his eyes, lying back on his bed, not even caring to pull the covers over himself. Hopefully, when he woke up, he could keep calm and go on with life.

* * *

Archer furrowed his brows as he worked the hammer on the armor piece he was crafting. It looked about finished by now, but Eorlund hadn't said anything, so he kept on hammering away at any imperfection he saw. He had to be extremely careful, however, that he didn't hammer too hard, or he'd run the risk of accidentally shattering the armor. He'd already messed up a few times in the past, and he didn't want to mess up now, when he was almost done. Also, he was getting tired. Armor making, he had learned some time ago, took much time to make, and it was rather tiring as well. The heat of the forge gave him energy to keep going, but even that was starting to lose its effect on him. He hoped that Eorlund would declare the armor piece's completion before his tiredness got the better of him.

"…Alright, that looks about done," said Eorlund.

"Is that it? It's finished?" Archer asked, wiping some soot from the burning forge off of his head with a rag.

"Indeed, it is," Eorlund said, inspecting the glass helmet laying on the stone table next to the Skyforge. "Which means that your armor set is finally complete."

The helmet was a beautiful glass helmet, built with very fine Malachite. It had been custom made to fit his head, including his horns, so he would actually be able to wear a helmet into battle. The complete set of armor would be a very strong set, much better than his old suit of leather armor. The malachite was very strong, making the armor stronger than steel due to its ability to better absorb and distribute the strength of shocks, while still staying lightweight, making for very flexible armor. It was, of course, harder to craft and maintain than steel armor, but overall it was a very good armor suit. The whole process had taken them both a few weeks to complete, but Archer was fairly certain that it was worth all the wait. After all, nobody could create an entire set of armor in a single day.

"Eorlund, you know I couldn't have done this without you," Archer said. "I can't tell you how much I appreciated your help."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," the old blacksmith said. "You made a big contribution to making the armor, I only did the harder parts. It was lucky I still remembered how to make smith Glass armor. Besides, I just figured that it'd be good to help you make something that'll keep you safe. You've been a good friend to me, so naturally, I wanted to help keep you alive."

Archer smiled. "This will definitely be better than leather," Archer said, running his hand over the smooth, blue helmet. "It's strange, knowing that I have an entire set of armor, all for myself… I never owned anything this grand before, when I lived in Cyrodiil."

"And you can honestly say that you made it with your own two hands," Eorlund said. "Always take pride in what you create; there's as much skill put into good forging as in good fighting. Remember that."

"Of course," Archer said, wiping his brow with the rag again before setting it down. "Can you put it with the rest of the armor until tomorrow?"

Of course, it'll be with the rest when you depart," Eorlund said. "Well, I'd say it's been a day. Why don't you go rest in Jorrvaskr? I've still got some things to take care of."

"Alright then," Archer said.

Archer walked down the steps from the Skyforge, and soon heard Eorlund return to work on his own project. Ever since Archer had taken up smithing, he'd been able to help Eorlund complete his tasks quicker, which gave the old blacksmith some more free time to work on his own projects. He briefly wondered what it was that Eorlund worked on all day, but the thought quickly left his mind.

Going down to his living quarters, Archer pulled up a chair and sat down to rest. Smithing was hard work, especially since he was working at the Skyforge for a good while. He didn't mind the heat, but it was tiring to work at a forge. Eorlund always told him it was strange to find one of his kind working a forge, with no intention of insult, of course, and Archer could see why: the heat might've been unbearable to some, especially other Argonians used to humid heat, unlike him. Then again, he already knew he was different from other Argonians, in more ways than he cared to think about.

He suddenly began to wonder what Lydia was doing. He hadn't actually seen much of her since after he'd killed that Dragon earlier today. Maybe she was still embarrassed about what happened. He wouldn't blame her, he thought. He felt sorry that he had caused this, since he very well knew by now what happened to him when he drank too much.

He couldn't simply blame the entire incident on drinking, though. Alcohol did not create feelings, it simply let them out without regard for censorship. If the whole thing was alcohol alone, then that would imply that, somewhere inside of him, he actually did have a physical attraction to Lydia. Immediately, he told himself that such an assumption to him was ludicrous, not to mention simply _wrong_, for obvious reasons, which is why he assumed that the Hist had a role in the incident. Well, either that, or he had a sort of human fetish, which he highly doubted. But could the Hist really be involved? He wished that he knew.

Archer suddenly got an idea, and quickly pulled out a paper from a nearby desk, along with a quill and ink pot. He had to write to Huleed, his old friend from Cyrodiil and his Hist teacher. The Argonian was well-versed in the nature of his people and their culture, being native-born. If anybody knew something about the Hist and the Histskin, it would be him. Maybe he could tell him how to undo the Hist's doings.

Archer dipped the tip of the quill into the ink pot, and then set it against the paper. His quill scratched as he quickly wrote down a letter on the paper, trying to use his best, most legible handwriting:

_Huleed,_

_I am sorry that I have not written to you for a while, but I have been rather busy as of late. I wish I could write to you as the friend that you are to me, but I'm afraid that the nature of this letter is not informal. I write to you to ask you a question involving a predicament I've had recently in which I believe the Hist is part of the cause. Allow me to explain: A few weeks ago, I went out on an expedition around Cyrodiil, and ended up in Skyrim by accident, where I believe I will be staying for a good while longer, due to unforeseen circumstances. During my time here, I have found a relatively new companion who travels with me. She is a Nord, sworn to my service under my Title of Thane. Do not concern yourself with how I acquired the title, it is not of importance to the matter I wish to discuss. _

_Between us, an incident occurred, of which I believe the Hist is partly the cause for, as I've said earlier. While we were both inebriated, though my Nordic companion was less under the influence than I was, I apparently advanced on her and kissed her, and she claimed to not have resisted. The details of that night are unclear, but she assured me that nothing else happened between us. Normally, I would attribute this entirely to the alcohol, but, among other things, another occurrence several weeks earlier might have some connection with this event. When we were up on a large mountain, we were both involved in a tragic accident involving a Frost Troll, leaving her unconscious and me freezing and near-death. To save both of us, I used the Histskin, using it to heal myself and her as well. I believe that the Hist created a bond between us when I used it then. I am fairly certain that neither of us harbor any feelings for each other, so I could only assume that the Hist was involved, but I wouldn't know. That is why I turn to you. I know that I must be prudent so as to not make a faulty conclusion, but I do not know about these things as much as I believe that you do. I ask of you, if you know of any cures or solutions to the problem, please notify me as soon as possible. I am, once again, sorry that I could not have written to you under less formal circumstances, but the need to do so was dire. I hope that you have been well, and I hope that you respond quickly._

_Sincerely, Archer._

Archer finally put down the quill and carefully looked over his letter. His handwriting wasn't perfect, but it was legible at least, which was all that mattered. He wished that he didn't have to be writing to his old friend under such circumstances, but he felt that this case was a good reason for it. He hoped that the letter would get to Huleed, since he knew how fickle the delivery service could be at times. Archer set the paper aside, waiting for the ink to dry out so he can give it to a courier. He then heard thundering footsteps coming down from the mead hall, and moments later, he saw Farkas at the doorway.

"Archer, Skjor wants to see both you and Balamus," Farkas said.

"Why? What does he want?" Archer asked.

"That's not for me to say," Farkas said. "He just told me he needs to see you guys. Balamus is with Skjor already, out in the courtyard."

"Alright, I'll go up now," Archer said, pushing himself away from the table.

Archer walked out of the living quarters, then made his way out towards the training courtyard. Pushing the doors open, he saw Skjor standing out in the center of the courtyard, with Balamus beside him. Archer walked towards them, finally catching the attention of the two other men.

"Ah, there you are," Skjor said, looking at Archer, his arms crossed.

"Alright, we're here, so what did you want to tell us?" Balamus asked.

"Well, it seems that your time has come, both of you," Skjor said.

Archer and Balamus exchanged confused glances with each other, before looking back at the Nord.

"Our time?" Archer asked.

"Last week a scholar came to us," said Skjor. "He told us where we could find another fragment of a legendary Companion weapon, Wuuthrad, inside a crypt. The honor of the Companions demands that we seek it out." The two of them looked at Skjor, not understanding.

"So what does this have to do with us?" Archer asked.

"I think it would be an ideal task for you two to complete as part of your Trial," Skjor said.

"Trial?" Archer asked. "What kind of Trial?"

"You'll see when you get back," Skjor responded. Obviously, he wanted to keep the cause for this Trial a secret.

"Collecting a few weapon fragments? Sounds like child's play," Balamus said, crossing his arms.

Skjor narrowed his eyes at the Dunmer. "This should be a simple errand, especially for the two of you, but don't get overconfident. Expect resistance. There'll be lots of draugr in there to keep you on your toes." Archer narrowed his eyes at the memory of the draugr in Bleak Falls Barrow. "Besides, since I've heard that you two are going to be leaving us for a while, I'd say that the time would be right for you two to have your Trial, before you leave."

"Alright, we can do that," Archer said.

"Good," Skjor said. "Go to Dustman's Cairn. Carry yourself with honor, and you'll become a true Companion." This remark got confused looks from Balamus and Archer.

"Aren't we were already Companions?" Balamus asked.

"You'll see what I mean when you both return with the fragments," Skjor replied. "By the way, Farkas will be accompanying you two whelps on your Trial."

"Alright, then," said Archer. "Come on, Balamus."

Archer and Balamus walked back towards Jorrvaskr, both hearing Skjor's voice from behind them: "Try not to disappoint. Or get yourselves killed."

The two walked back into Jorrvaskr, and the large Nord sitting at a nearby table, drinking from a mug.

"So you're going to be accompanying us to get the fragment," Archer said as he approached Farkas. The Nord wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at them.

"That's right," he said, pushing against his knees to stand up. "I hope you've both readied yourselves, because we're leaving right now."

"Now? Right now?" Archer asked, looking up at Farkas.

"Yes, now," Farkas said. "Any later, and we'll be walking through the wild at night. Even you know that's not a good idea."

Archer's shoulders sagged in defeat. He'd been hoping to rest a bit since he had just finished working at a hot forge for a good part of the afternoon. "Fine, let's go," he said. Farkas walked towards the doors and pushed them open, letting in the chill Skyrim breeze. Archer shivered unconsciously - he still wasn't used to the ever-present chill of Whiterun - but he didn't complain or even cast a heating spell on himself. It had been long since he found out that complaining about something that was never going to change, like Skyrim's cold, was useless.

The three of them left Jorrvaskr and headed out to Whiterun's gates. In a few hours or so, the sun would start to set. Fortunately for them, their destination was not too far away from Whiterun. Around half an hour later, Farkas pointed out to a ring of stones placed at the top of a hill. Upon scaling the hill, it was revealed that there was the entrance to an underground crypt.

"The fragments are in here," said Farkas. "Let's get moving. I don't want to stick around out here too long."

Archer and Balamus nodded. They were both well aware of the danger of traveling at night. The three Companions then entered the crypt carefully.

They first room they encountered was rather small, with a hallway leading deeper into the crypt at the end of the rocky room. A small stone table with a pickaxe and some parchments laid on it stood at the center of the room. Cobwebs clung to the sides of old braziers, engraved in the ancient nordic style, but it was obvious that this crypt had been recently disturbed. The embers in the braziers were hot and burning, and the coffins inside the room, normally placed standing against the walls, were open. The lids were on the floor, with the mummified corpses lying on top of them.

"Someone's been digging here, and recently," said Farkas as he pulled out his Skyforge Steel greatsword and held it at the ready.

"We might be having to deal with more than just a few undead," Balamus said, pulling out Hellsting, the black sword glowing slightly. The fire enchantment on Hellsting would be highly effective at killing the undead.

Archer reached for Frostbite, his Frost Enchanted war axe, with his right hand, the one that Balamus had enchanted for him to replace his old Ancient Nordic one. Wielding the axe in one hand, being enchanted and featuring great stopping power, would enable him to do more damage to Draugr than his steel shortsword would, and it would also give him the advantage of being able to use magic in his free hand if he needed to.

The three walked deeper into the crypt. The next room was full of burial stones, still not open from any previous intruders. Archer stepped into the room first, but as soon as he did, a Draugr broke out of its coffin, followed by another few. The first draugr pulled out a war axe, and charged towards them. The brainless creature was not able to step out of the way of Farkas' incoming great sword thrust. The large weapon went deep into the draugr, the other end of the blade coming out of its back, but the undead creature still struggled while impaled until Balamus struck its head with Hellsting. The undead creature caught fire, and Farkas kicked the draugr off his blade before it even stopped struggling, in order to face the other draugr which were also coming. The other draugr ran towards them, crowding the doorway. Archer hesitated for a moment, but Farkas knew exactly what to do. With a battle cry, Farkas rammed into the draugr with near reckless abandon.

The draugr were sent staggering backwards from the force of a large and fully armored Nord plowing through them, allowing the Companions to take advantage. Farkas readjusted his grip, then stabbed downward with his great sword into the chest of one draugr he had sent sprawling on the floor. Balamus charged at another with an overhead slash, setting the undead creature alight. Archer ran ahead and swung his axe at the third draugr's head once, knocking it to one side, then he did a backhand swing, hitting its abdomen and sending it staggering backwards. As it raised its head to look at Archer, the Argonian brought his axe down on the draugr's skull, the force of the blow driving the undead creature to the ground, dead. As he looked around, he caught sight of a draugr archer taking aim at him. A firebolt from Balamlus struck the draugr, causing it to lose its aim and stagger to one side, before Balamus finished it off with his blade. The three of them looked around, their weapons up, but nothing else came at them from the remaining coffins.

"Thanks," Archer told Balamus.

Balamus nodded in acknowledgement, and they continued deeper into the crypt.

"Draugr... gods, I hate these things," Archer said.

"Had a bad experience with them?" Balamus asked. Archer nodded.

"In my first week in Skyrim, I was sent on a quest where I had to go into an ancient Nordic ruin in search of a shopkeeper's stolen ornament," Archer said. "Of course, it turned out to be more than just an ornament. It was the key to the main chamber of the crypt. That was where I learned the first Word of Power for my Unrelenting Force Shout. But to get through the place, I had to kill scores of the damn things."

They kept walking, encountering no resistance greater than an unlocked wooden door and a hallway with a thin film of spider web spanning across it, which Archer merely shivered at passing through. The next chamber they encountered was large, with wooden poles acting as support beams. A set of stone steps descended from their point to the lower level, where the room expanded. Broken stone seats, some stone tables, and what appeared to be ancient book shelves were placed against the stone walls surrounding the three. The exit to the next hallway was closed off by a metal grated door.

"Look around," Farkas said. "There's likely to be a lever of some sort around here that opens that door."

Archer and Balamus went around the room looking for a lever, or anything that might be a hidden lever. Upon a brief search, Balamus found the lever.

"Hey guys, I think I found it!" Balamus alerted them, pulling the lever.

There was a loud metallic slam as a metal grate door unsheathed itself from the wall behind the startled Dark Elf and slammed down onto the floor, trapping him. The Dunmer turned around, and, seeing the door that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, said, "Oh, what the hell."

Archer and Farkas walked up to the door and smirked at the trapped dunmer.

"Well, you found a lever," Farkas said with an amused smirk, "That's a good start."

"If we were looking for a trapped Dunmer, then I'd say, Well done, Balamus!" Archer applauded. Balamus gave them a glare in turn.

"Very funny. Now help me out of here you two," Balamus said. "I don't want to be in here all day."

"Don't worry, I'm sure there's a release lever somewhere," Farkas said.

They heard the sounds of equipment rustling and footsteps on the stone floor. Turning around, Farkas and Archer were confronted with a group of bandits, all of them armed. Archer immediately pulled out his war axe and readied a sparks spell in his left hand while Farkas pulled out the great sword on his back, ready to face the attackers.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" asked a burly Redguard wielding a one-handed axe. "Seems we've gotten ourselves a couple of Companions."

"We knew you'd be coming," said a Nord with a broadsword and shield. "Which is the last mistakes you three are ever going to make."

"We're not afraid of you," Farkas growled, his face wearing a scowl.

Archer hissed menacingly at the bandits, eyes narrowing at them.

"I don't think I like the attitude you two have," said a Nord wielding what appeared to be a silver shortsword. "We might just have to fix that right now."

"And we get to kill two _beasts_ at once," said the Redguard from before. Archer inspected the other bandits and noticed that, curiously enough, they all wielded silver weapons of some kind. Even their two archers held silver-tipped arrows, both pointed at Balamus, still trapped in the cage, which was strange, given that silver wasn't a very good material to make weapons out of, since steel was better by far, and possibly even cheaper.

"I'm warning you, back off!" Farkas snarled once more, this time sounding almost like a true growl, more beastly than even Archer did when he snarled at someone. This behavior slightly worried Archer, who hoped that the Nord would be able to contain whatever feelings of rage he seemed to be harboring for this particular group of bandits; running into combat with reckless abandon would surely spell even this Nord's death, especially when they were outnumbered as much as they were now.

"Ever the valiant one, are we?" a Nord woman said smugly. "Killing you three will make for an excellent story."

"I'll be the one telling the story," Farkas said, "about how I singlehandedly slaughtered a crowd of Silver Hand!" Archer noticed with some horror how Farkas' eyes suddenly seemed to be glowing. The large Nord bent over, shutting his eyes in apparent pain or discomfort. He dropped his greatsword as he grunted in pain, his body beginning to hunch over, and his grunts began to turn into feral growls as he tore off pieces of his armor.

"He's transforming! Kill them!" said one of the bandits. Archer's head snapped from Farkas to the incoming bandit. Archer took in a quick breath and Shouted: _"IIZ!"_ A large burst of cold air flew forward, and instantly turned two unlucky bandits into human ice statues; it was a Shout that he had learned some time ago, when he was sent on a contract. Archer decided that he had to protect Farkas as he did… whatever it was he was doing. He swung his sword at one bandit, only to have it blocked. He saw the glint of steel at his right, and dodged backwards to avoid having a silver greatsword thrust through his flank. Another bandit swung a silver shortsword overhead, but Archer parried the attack, before dodging to another side to avoid being hit again from another angle. Three bandits charged at him at once, shouting, "For the Silver Hand!"

"Archer! Look out!" Balamus shouted, but his voice was quickly drowned out by an ear-shattering roar from behind. Archer turned around, and only saw a gigantic black _thing_ flying at his face before his combat training forced him to duck under it. The object made contact with the bandit closest to Archer, the one with the silver greatsword, sending the man flying into a wall, ribbons of blood flying through the air behind him. Archer looked up and nearly froze in fear at the sight before him. Farkas had transformed from a large, fully armored Nord into an even larger and more fearsome Werewolf. The Werewolf's steel-colored eyes passed over the bandits and roared, before pouncing on the nearest one, clamping his jaws around his throat and ravenously ripping at it like a starving predator.

Tearing his eyes away from the gruesome scene, Archer had to remember that he was still engaged in a fight with the bandits. The bandits quickly managed to refocus on fighting the threats, having recovered from the shock of seeing a comrade torn to bits. Three bandits went for the werewolf, including one of the archers, and the other two charged at Archer. Archer deflected a silver broadsword and retaliated quickly with a slash across the man's stomach, then another through his throat. The other bandit, the archer, took aim and let loose a silver-tipped arrow at him. Archer stumbled backwards a step as the arrow bounced off his leather armor, the weak arrow's tip having been deflected off his armor at an odd angle. Despite having the wind knocked out of him, Archer let loose some lightning at the archer. The archer cried in pain as the lightning coursed through his body, rendering him immobile.

An flying piece of bloody flesh suddenly struck Archer in the side, causing him to momentarily refocus his attention on the werewolf that had flung it. Farkas had already made quick work of the three bandits and was just clawing out the last one's throat, before he turned to the last bandit and grabbed him. Archer quickly ceased shooting his lightning to make sure he didn't hurt Farkas as he grabbed the surprised bandit before throwing him against the metal grate door in front of Balamus. The werewolf lunged again and tore into the man's chest, the man crying out in agony only for a few moments before his cries were abruptly cut off.

The werewolf finally backed away from the bloodied heap that was once a live man. The lycan turned towards Archer, who instinctively raised his axe and spell hand in anticipation of a fight, but he was unsure whether this new creature was still friend or not. The werewolf looked at Archer, but didn't attack. Instead, it began to shrink down to the Nord-sized man it once was. In its place, Farkas stood once more, albeit without any armor or clothes on, for that matter; the pieces of his armor were still on the floor from when he first transformed, and the torn bits of clothing from having grown out of the clothes he wore underneath were scattered about. Farkas looked at Archer with concern, showing his hands to let Archer see he wasn't armed.

"Sorry about that, Archer," said Farkas. "I wish I could've warned you about what I was going to do."

_"What the bloody hell was that?!"_ Balamus shouted from behind.

"It's the Beast Blood," Farkas explained. "It's a blessing from Hircine, Daedric Lord of the Hunt. I can use my power to become a fearsome beast." Archer stared incredulously at the Nord.

"Farkas, you could've said something, _anything,_" Archer said, lowering his weapons. "You nearly gave me a heart attack, you bastard."

"There wasn't any time to say anything," Farkas said. "I had a small chance to transform, and had I warned you, they probably would've struck us down that instant."

"Can we please discuss this later? I want to get out of this trap already," Balamus said aloud, his voice a bit shaky.

"Alright. Archer, the gate over there opened when he pulled the lever," Farkas said. "See if there's a release in that doorway," he told him, putting some of his armor back on.

Archer walked over to the doorway and saw a release lever next to the door. He pulled it, and he heard the grate door that kept Balamus trapped rise again, releasing the Dunmer. He walked over and saw the Dunmer walk out, clearly avoiding the large Nord who was getting re-armored. Balamus walked to Archer. The Dunmer still had the look of horrified fear on his blood-spattered face.

"What happened to you? Did you get hit?" Balamus asked, gesturing to Archer's similar-bloodstained upper body. Archer was finally aware of the blood soiling his armor, and scowled.

"No," Archer said. "But the big guy sent what was left of an arm flying at my head."

"At least you didn't have to see a man ripped apart in front of you," Balamus said, shuddering unconsciously from the memory of what he had just seen. In a few moments, Farkas had finished armoring himself, and they walked on. The two Companions kept their eyes on him, wary.

"You're not gonna turn into a bloody mutt again, are you?" Balamus asked, keeping a good two feet away from Farkas.

Farkas scowled at being referred to as a mutt, but answered: "We can only transform once per day. It takes the strength out of us."

"Us?" Archer asked. "You mean the other Companions also have lycanthropy?"

"No, just the members of the Circle," Farkas told him.

"Those bandits, one of them called themselves the Silver Hand," Archer noted. "Who are they?"

Farkas' upper lip curled in disgust at the mention of the name, and responded with contempt, "They're very bad people who don't like Werewolves. That means that they don't like _us_. Kill them on sight, like any other bandit."

Archer didn't know of the vendetta between the Companions and any organized group of bandits, but the Companions were his comrades and friends. If they were being threatened by anybody, he'd be at their side.

They continued down the hallway, encountering two more Silver Hand. A single chain lightning spell from Balamus struck down the two bandits, giving the Companions free passage. Farkas purposely stayed behind the two, watching them fight together. He observed them carefully as they fought, taking out Silver Hand at rage before wiping out those who got too near, pausing only to let Archer retrieve his arrows from the corpses.

There was a general lack of resistance as the three traversed the ruin. Only a few Silver Hand and a few Draugr made up the meager resistance for a while. Things suddenly got interesting once they pushed their way deeper into the crypt.

Three Silver Hand warriors ran at them through the hallway. One was put down with an arrow to the heart, another had an icicle spike sent through his skull. The last one shouted a battle cry as he swung his sword in an overhead swing, but the blow was easily deflected by Balamus' sword, before the elf ran him through with his blade.

They heard the sounds of conflict further into the crypt. They pushed open an rotting wooden door into the next room. The path went across the large room by a stone catwalk connecting to the other end of the room. In the room down below, the three could see a skirmish occurring between Silver Hand warriors and some recently-awoken Draugr. The three barely paused to look down at the ensuing conflict before continuing down their current path.

The next hallway was also host to a fight between the Silver Hand and the Draugr. Two Draugr took notice of the new challengers, and they growled a guttural threat to the invaders before charging. Archer shot an arrow into the sternum of one, but the undead creature did not halt its advance. Archer put away his bow as he pulled out his axe, before parrying the draugr's sword. His axe quickly chopped the Draugr's bony sword-wielding arm off, before a horizontal slash sent the creature to the floor, dead once more, ice crystallizing over the wounds. Balamus locked blades with the other Draugr. He kicked the creature, sending it staggering backwards, and lopped its head off with Hellsting in one swing.

As the burning head rolled on the floor, the Silver Hand warriors finished off the last of the Draugr, then turned their blades on the new threats. Two warriors confronted Archer, and the last one went for Balamus. Balamus, not wanting to waste any more magic than was necessary, readjusted his grip to hold his longsword in two hands, and blocked the incoming sword, while Archer had to deal with the other two.

The first man came running at him with a silver claymore. Archer knew better than to assume that the weapon would be slow and heavy; he had learned that some two handed weapons were surprisingly fast, though not as fast as one handed weapons. The claymore came in from overhead, and Archer knocked the weapon aside with his axe. Instead of attacking the same warrior, Archer swung horizontally at the other Silver Hand. The man was caught off-guard, and paid for it with having his stomach slashed open. As the man fell with a pain-filled groan, Archer turned to the claymore-wielding bandit and parried his blow again, before kicking the man to break his block and sending his axe into the man's neck.

The man groaned in pain before Archer pulled his axe out. The man slumped to the floor, and Archer had to step away to avoid the growing pools of blood on the floor. He didn't bother wiping his weapon clean, as he'd probably be staining it with more blood soon. They walked through the crypt and down another set of steps, before going through an open door, leading into the room below.

It appeared that the Draugr had won the confrontation, and the three Companions rewarded them with a swift death. They walked to the end of the room, where there was a large set of closed double doors. Archer went up to it and tried to open it, but it didn't budge.

"It's locked. Maybe there's a key around here," Archer said as he began looking around for a key that could fit the lock. He found a chest and began rummaging through its contents.

"Can't you just throw a fireball at the door, blow it open?" Farkas asked.

"Well, I _could_ do that," Balamus said, "but I wouldn't want to waste magic on blasting open a door that probably has a key around here."

"I found it," Archer announced, holding up a rusty bronze key.

He walked up to the door and opened it easily, turning to beckon the other two to follow. He turned and walked through the doorway, the other two following behind.

As they walked through the doorway, something came out of the shadows and pounced at Balamus. The small creature scratched at the Dunmer's armor, but could not penetrate the ring mail. Not able to find purchase on the armor, the thing quickly fell down, and Balamus thrust Hellsting through its midsection. The creature, being a Skeever, let out a pained squeak, and remained motionless, its corpse burning.

_For being the place where their respected dead are to be buried,_ Archer thought idly, _they sure do let nature take its toll._ He questioned the logic of having burial crypts out in the middle of the wilds for a moment, but quickly left the question alone.

They walked through a couple of chambers, only encountering skeevers as they walked onward. They reached a large rocky cavern, with spider webs strewn about like party decorations and large, white, silky egg-sacs clustered in the corners of the cavern. From the dark corners of the cavern, two spiders came out to attack them, baring their venom-dripping fangs at the three.

Before Farkas or Balamus could react, they heard Archer yell _"Oh fuck!"_ and the crackling as of lightning, before they saw blue lightning bolts streaking past them, directly striking the spiders. Balamus and Farkas both jumped to one side to avoid the incoming bolts of magical lightning. The spiders shrieked in pain as the lightning course throughout their bodies, but Archer didn't stop firing off lightning until he was satisfied that they were both completely dead. Balamus and Farkas looked at the Argonian in bewilderment.

"Archer, what was that about?" Balamus asked.

Apparently having just realized what he'd done, Archer scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I think just overreacted a bit," Archer said.

One of the spiders' legs twitched involuntarily, immediately prompting Archer to send an especially powerful lightning bolt at it, reducing the arachnid into a smoking pile of spider ash.

"Hey! Quit it already!" Balamus asked, smacking Archer in the arm.

Archer looked down in partial embarrassment. He bent down and picked up the axe he had dropped in his haste before continuing onward. Balamus and Farkas followed behind, with Balamus muttering something about damn lizards under his breath and Farkas holding an amused grin on his face.

After killing off a couple of stray Draugr, the three Companions reached yet another iron-braced door. This one, however, was unlocked. They went through the door and were faced with a large chamber filled with apertures on the walls, where each individual coffin would stand. This end of the room was only kept lit by means of a few candles, but the far end of the room had several braziers lit, including an overhead brazier.

Neither Farkas, Balamus, or Archer lowered their weapons despite the lack of immediate danger as they walked towards the end of the room. A surprise attack by the Silver Hand could prove to be fatal. Two braziers flanked the most prominent coffin in the room, and a few feet behind the coffin stood a large stone table. Several dark-tinted fragments of shattered, ancient metal, similar in appearance to what made the Draugr's weapons, stood on a small pedestal on the table.

"Alright, that looks like what we've come for," Balamus said. "I'd say a job well done. Right, Archer?"

Balamus turned his head to his friend, but it was visibly clear that Archer wasn't paying attention. His gaze didn't seem focused on him, but rather on something at the end of the room.

"Archer, you alright?" Balamus asked. Archer stayed focused on whatever object he was staring at. He lifted his arm, pointing to a curved stone wall behind the stone table on which the fragments of Wuuthrad were placed.

"What is it?" Farkas asked from behind.

"It's a Word Wall," Archer answered them. "If I walk up to it, it will teach me a Shout…" Archer trailed off, before he began making his way toward the Word Wall. Balamus looked at the wall. It was made of old grey stone, and it had several strange symbols etched onto it, written in some strange language. From what Balamus could tell, it wasn't Daedric, and it didn't seem special in any way to him. Maybe it was only something Archer could understand.

Balamus and Farkas followed closely behind Archer as the Argonian made his way towards the Word Wall. Now being closer to the wall, Balamus could see that a few select symbols carved onto the wall were starting to glow blue. Then, blue lights began to sprout from the carvings and fly at Archer.

The Argonian stiffened immediately upon contact as the Word's knowledge and understanding wormed its way into his mind, bypassing any mental resistance he put up. The Argonian began heaving heavier breaths, and he looked like he wanted to shut his eyes, but the power of the Shout flowing into him kept them open. Balamus wasn't sure what to do, for he hadn't seen when Archer learned any of his other Shouts. He assumed that this was natural, and refrained from even touching him as he learned the new word of power.

When the Thu'um lost its hold on Archer, he gasped in relief, staggering backward a step, but Farkas was there to keep him on his feet. Evidently, he still wasn't used to the feeling of having the comprehension and understanding of a Word the way Dragons knew it forcibly shoved into his mind.

"You alright?" Balamus asked Archer as he stepped away from Farkas.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Archer responded a bit harshly. He took a second to calm down a bit, and continued: "I'm not exactly sure what kind of Shout I learned… but I think it has to do with fire. _Yol_."

"Fire Breath?" Balamus asked.

"I don't know," Archer said, "I only have knowledge of a few basic words in the Dragon tongue."

"If you guys are done talking, we've still got to gather these fragments," Farkas said, pulling out a cloth sack. He grabbed the fragments of the ancient weapon and put them into the sack. He looked to the other Companions. "Alright, it looks like we've finished here. Let's go home."

There was suddenly the sound of coffins forcibly bursting open. Upon sensing that their beloved artifact was being taken, the draugr inside the coffins came out from their resting places, to once more protect their sacred fragments from the defilers of the crypt.

The undead creatures charged at the three Companions, who had by this time pulled out their weapons. Farkas let out a battle cry as he swung his great sword into the side of one draugr, sending the corpse flying to one side, a small cloud of dust accompanying it. Balamus stretched out his left hand and let loose a jet of flames at a nearby draugr, scorching the undead corpse. Archer pulled out his hunting bow and quickly loaded an arrow, firing off two shots into an armored corpse before it fell. The arrows would not easily kill the draugr without a shot through the head, but they could also make the draugr flinch upon impact, creating openings for Balamus and Farkas to take advantage of.

A large Draugr Wight came bursting out of its coffin, an Ancient Nordic Greatsword in hand. The Draugr charged directly towards Farkas, who was occupied with pushing one of its kin off his blade. When the Nord's attention was finally directed towards the Wight, he raised his blade to block the overhead blow. After blocking a few of each other's blows, the Wight managed to disarm the Nord, causing the sword to fly out of his hand. The Nord had only enough time to blink before the Draugr's sword was flying at his head. Farkas' hands lashed out, and he grabbed the two hands holding the sword, stopping the swing in midair. The back of his armored fist connected with a resounding thud against the Draugr's face, before Farkas bent low, grabbed the Draugr by the waist, and hoisted the creature high into the air, before slamming it back down onto the stone floor with bone-shattering force. The impact of being thrown onto the floor under its own weight caused the Wight's skull to crack open, regardless of the helmet covering it.

Archer took a moment to beam at Farkas, who had just used one of the unarmed techniques he'd taught him. "Nicely done, Farkas," he commented as he sent an arrow into another Draugr's face. The draugr fell dead once more. Another one suddenly burst out of a coffin beside him, the lid nearly flying into him. He quickly put his bow away, but the thing was coming too fast for him to be able to pull Frostbite out in time, and he decided to try his new Shout.

"_Yol!"_ he Shouted, and a blast of flame erupted from his mouth, flying into the draugr as he pulled out his axe. So it was a Fire Breath Shout after all. The creature flinched from the impact of the flame, stopping it from swinging its weapon. It recovered quickly, however, and sent its weapon at Archer. Archer blocked the weapon with one hand and sent lighting through the draugr's body with the other. The draugr fell down into a smoking heap as Archer turned to face off with another draugr that had gotten too near.

Balamus swung his sword once more, catching another Draugr in the neck. He saw two Draugr approach him from one side, and quickly swung his longsword horizontally to stop the two weapons. He walked backwards, and one Draugr attempted to thrust its sword through the elf. The weapon met only air, as it was too far away for the one-handed sword to reach; however, it was now in range of Balamus' longsword, and the Dunmer quickly slew the undead in one slash. The other draugr approached him with a swing of its mace, but the elf parried the blow easily. He swung his sword low, striking the creature's leg and severing it. The off-balance Draugr was easily finished off with a thrust through the torso.

"Alright, that looks like the last of them," Balamus remarked as he pulled his sword out.

Archer let out a sigh of relief. "That was intense," he said, putting his axe away. "I was getting tired there."

"Alright, we've been here long enough," Farkas said. "Let's go home."

There was the sound of a twang, and a moment later, the fletching of an arrow blossomed on Archer's chest. The Argonian let out a single cry of pain, staggering backward from the force of impact, before falling against a wall and slumping to the floor.

"Archer!" Balamus shouted in alarm. His head shot towards one side, seeing the Draugr archer on a raised platform. Farkas immediately began running at the draugr, his steel armor easily deflecting an arrow as it hit him, while Balamus ran toward his friend to see if he was still alive.

Archer was slumped against the wall, the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his chest. Blood was starting to seep out of the wound, staining his armor. By the way it looked, the arrow was going straight through the Argonian's heart. But Archer was still alive. The sound of his slow, ragged breathing was the only indication Balamus had that the Argonian wasn't dead.

"Come on, mate, stay with me," Balamus told Archer as he racked his mind for a healing spell, the Argonian drifting in semi-consciousness from the pain. He was most proficient in Destruction and Alteration, with some Illusion on the side. Restoration was never one of his strong spots, and now he was regretting having not learned a good healing spell. Balamus heard Farkas' armored boots clanking behind him as he approached.

"Is he alive?" Farkas asked, sounding doubtful, as if he had guessed that the arrow had instantly killed Archer. The Nord looked over Balamus' shoulders, and his eyebrows rose when he saw Archer. It could have been because of the way Archer looked like, but it could also have been because of the way the arrow was sticking out his chest where his heart should be.

"Yeah, just barely," Balamus said hurriedly. "I dunno how. It looks like it should be going right through his heart. Must be one lucky lizard."

Just then, Archer's face slowly contorted into a snarl as he hissed in pain, consciousness returning. His squinting eyes opened more fully, first looking in pain at Balamus and Farkas, then in horror at the arrow shaft protruding from his chest.

"What the- _argh!"_ Archer tried moving, but immediately hissed in pain again.

"Try not to talk, Archer," Balamus said. "You've got an arrow through your chest, and I think it might have gotten a lung."

"Yeah, I can _see_ that," Archer rasped, squinting in a grimace. "Pull it out!"

"What? I can't just pull it out like that!" Balamus said. "What if it's barbed? I don't want to rip out a chunk of you along with the arrow!"

"I know… a good healing spell…" Archer said in-between breaths, having difficulty in using only one lung. "It'll heal me back to normal. Just… pull the arrow out!"

Balamus nodded and grabbed the shaft. He looked to Archer, who shut his eyes, bracing himself for the pain. Balamus braced himself as well, for the Argonian's pained cry, and he readjusted his grip, before he pulled the arrow out in one go. The arrow, luckily, wasn't barbed, so it wasn't accompanied by chunks of Archer's muscles. Regardless, it was unbearably painful. The Argonian let out a loud hiss of pain, his claws scratching against the stone floor. He breathed heavy sighs as he waited for the pain to go away slightly. When he felt he could focus, he cast a healing spell on himself, and the wound mended itself until there was only a scar to remind them of its existence.

Archer breathed out a sigh of relief. "Damn, that was bad," he rasped. The wound had been healed, but the pain still sapped him of most of his energy. Experiencing a great amount of pain one moment and suddenly having it disappear the next often did that to people.

"Glad that's over," Archer said, standing up, using Farkas and the wall behind him for support.

"For a minute there, I thought you were dead," Farkas told him, looking him over briefly to see that he was okay. "I'm not going to have to actually carry you out of here on my back, am I?" he asked sincerely.

"Of course not. It's gonna take more than an arrow through the chest to kill me," Archer said jokingly.

Balamus couldn't help but smirk in amusement. "Shut up, you. Just got lucky, is all."

Archer shrugged. "Well, luck has its uses, I guess." He turned around. "Come on. Let's get out of here. I don't want to be walking around in the dark out there." The Argonian started making his way out of the cavern, with the Nord and Dunmer following behind and a bag full of weapon fragments in tow.

* * *

It was near night time in Whiterun when the three arrived, tired but successful. The shopkeepers were still out, trying to sell their goods in the time they had before night completely enshrouded the sky. The setting sun was just peeking over the mountains from afar, which suggested only an hour or so left of light. Farkas held the bag of Wuuthrad's fragments with him, evidence of their successfully accomplished task. Any citizens passing by would've looked at them strangely, especially seeing how bloodied their armor was, but Archer and Balamus paid no attention to them. They were more concerned with preparing themselves for whatever was waiting for them in Jorrvaskr. They'd tried asking Farkas on the way back, but the Nord had proven to be a tough nut to crack, refusing to reveal even a hint as to what would go down.

When they arrived, they saw Vilkas standing atop the stone steps leading to Jorrvaskr, behind him. He seemed to have the look of satisfaction on his face as he witnessed the three Companions returning.

"Ah, good, you've returned," Vilkas said. "We've been waiting for you."

"Here are the fragments," said Farkas, carefully handing the bag over to his brother, instead of throwing it like he normally would. Vilkas toted the bag in his hand, nodding a quick thanks to Farkas before turning his head towards the other two warriors before him.

"You two, follow us," Vilkas said. Archer and Balamus followed behind the two brothers, around to the back of Jorrvaskr. When they reached the courtyard, they saw the members of the Circle standing in a sort of semi-circle. Aela, Skjor, and Kodlak made up part of the circle, and Vilkas and Farkas ran to their respective spots, forming an almost-complete circle.

"You two, stand there," Skjor said, pointing toward the empty spots where they would stand. Archer and Balamus glanced at each other, but walked to their places, completing the circle.

Kodlak spoke up: "Brothers and Sister," he said, raising his torch, "today, we welcome two new young souls into our inner Circle."

Archer's and Balamus' eyebrows rose in realization, but they said nothing, not wanting to interrupt.

Kodlak continued speaking, saying, "These two men have endured, have challenged, and have shown their valor, both on and off the field of battle. Is there anybody here who will speak for these two?" he asked, his powerful gaze passing over every member of the Circle with a scrutinizing quality, looking to see which Companion would step forth.

"I stand witness to the courage of the souls before us," said Farkas, stepping forward. Kodlak smiled at the large Nord.

"Would you raise your shield in their defense?" Kodlak asked.

"I would stand at their backs, that the world might never overtake us," Farkas replied simply.

"Would you raise your sword in their honor?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of their foes."

"And would you raise a mug in their names?"

Archer's lip curled into a half-smirk as well, almost forgetting that such a custom was traditional to Nordic warrior culture.

"I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in their stories."

Kodlak smiled in satisfaction. "Then the judgment of this Circle is complete. Their hearts beat with the same fury and courage that united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

His head turned toward Archer and Balamus. "Ysgramor himself would be proud of the two that have joined our group today. A Dunmer with a passion for knowledge and battle alike, and an Argonian with a spiritual strength to rival any foe in combat. I know that they won't disappoint. Let their initiation into this Circle be a stepping stone to their ultimate goals."

All eyes were on them, but Archer couldn't help but feel that most of their gazes were on him. Did they base their decision to initiate him on his Dragonborn nature? Or did they overlook it? Archer never heard Kodlak call him Dragonborn, so he felt that they weren't doing this because of his inner power.

"It shall be so," said the rest of the members of the Circle. With that said, the members of the Circle broke off. Balamus turned to Archer.

"Well, Archer, it looks like we've become true Companions," Balamus said.

"Yeah, good thing your ego didn't get in the way of their decision, huh?" Archer asked him, smirking.

"Hey, I'm not the one who showed off my Shouts when that dragon attacked, am I?" he asked, giving him a smirk in return. Then Kodlak walked up to them.

"Well you two, it seems that you're one of us now," said the older man. "I trust you will honorably wield your titles with the respect they deserve."

Archer nodded. "Of course," he said. "I would never try to dishonor this new title."

"That is good to hear," Kodlak said. "Well, I know that you two are off to leave us tomorrow, so I bid you two good luck on your quest."

"Thank you, Harbringer," Archer said.

"Oh, and one more thing," Kodlak said. "I've told Eorlund to have some quality Skyforge Steel weapons out for you two to replace your current weapons."

"Thank you," Archer said. "We'll go see him now."

"Oh and, um… you've got a spatter of blood on your face, Balamus," Kodlak said.

With that, Balamus and Archer walked up the steps to the Skyforge, with Balamus angrily rubbing at the bloodstains on his face in an attempt to get rid of them, silently cursing Farkas for them. Eorlund was just finishing up working on fixing an iron chest plate when he noticed the two standing a few feet away.

"So, I've heard that you two have been accepted into the Circle," Eorlund said. "Kodlak told me to have some weapons ready for you." He turned to one side, and grabbed a large box full of weapons, and placed it on the stone table next to the forge.

"These are all made from Skyforge Steel. The best steel in all of Skyrim, just as strong as anything those Elves can make," Eorlund said. "I've sharpened them up so that they're presentable. Go ahead, make your choices."

Archer looked about the box, rummaging through it for a moment before he finally picked a Skyforge Steel shortsword.

"Ah, a shortsword. Faster to swing than a sword, with more killing power than a dagger. That'll keep your enemies on their toes," Eorlund commented. Archer inspected his sword carefully, finding it to be much sharper than any other weapon he'd seen as of yet. He didn't dare run his finger along its edge. He put it in his sheath, removing the older sword and placing it on the table, and he looked over to see Balamus pull out a Skyforge Steel broadsword from the weapons box.

"Aye, a sword. An honorable weapon, not to mention all-around effective," Eorlund remarked. Balamus admired the sword for a moment, and he nodded appreciatively.

"Thank you Eorlund, this'll make for a great backup weapon," Balamus said. "Though I think I'll be sticking to my longsword most of the time."

"That's fine, whatever suits you," Eorlund said. "Well, that's about it. Have a safe trip tomorrow."

"Alright, so now what?" Balamus asked as the two of them walked down the steps of the Skyforge. He held the broadsword in its sheath, since he'd most likely be taking his armor off soon anyways.

"Well, there's not much to do at this time," Archer said. "It's getting a bit late. Maybe we could have a drink or two at the Bannered Mare."

"Archer," said a voice. The two turned to see Skjor.

"Yes?" Archer asked.

"I need to speak with you," Skjor said. He turned to Balamus. "_In private,_ if you may."

Balamus caught his drift, and excused himself to the Bannered Mare. When Balamus was gone, Archer asked, "Alright, now can you tell me?"

Skjor took a precautionary glance around, checking to make sure they were out of earshot, before he spoke: "Alright, Archer. This matter is of great concern, so pay attention."

"What is it? Another task?" Archer asked.

Skjor shook his head. "No, not a task. Me and Aela have something different planned for you," he said. "More like a special parting gift before you leave Whiterun."

Archer's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "A gift?"

Skjor nodded. "Yes. But it's not something to discuss here. Meet me in the Underforge, tonight, and we'll give it to you then."

"...Underforge?"

Skjor, realizing that Archer had never seen this Underforge, told him where it was: "It's under the Skyforge. You can't see it now, but you'll see it later."

"When do I come by?" Archer asked.

"When everyone else is gone. Just be here. You can go now." With that said, Archer cautiously turned to leave, suspicion starting to make its way toward him.

The Argonian made his way over to the tavern, seeing a few shops closing up for the night. The Bannered Mare usually saw many patrons, especially at this time of night, but tonight was different. The tavern wasn't as packed as it was, but it was definitely full of patrons, some being familiar faces, others probably being passing travelers or merchants. Among those familiar faces was Balamus, whom Archer sat down with. Saadia, the Redguard waitress, took Archer's order for a wine with a smile, before departing, leaving him with Balamus.

"So, what was it that Skjor wanted to tell you?" Balamus asked him.

"He wants to give me some sort of gift later tonight," Archer told him. "Though, I have no idea what he wants to give me. He considered it a parting gift for when we leave for Ustengrav."

"Wonder what it could be," Balamus said.

In a few moments, their drinks came, and they drank together, with Archer taking special care not to get drunk. He had ordered some wine instead of the Honeybrew which he had acquired a taste for during his stay in Skyrim. He had decided to stay away from mead for a while, especially since his little episode in Jorrvaskr, but he wasn't going to waste a late afternoon with a cup of water, either. Nobody came to a tavern for a cup of water.

A while later, a group of about 3 young women walked into the bar. Balamus' attention was instantly on them.

"Take a gander at those beauties," Balamus said with a sly smile. Archer looked at him curiously.

"I thought you were trying to get to Aela," Archer said.

"Oh, there's no harm in a little fooling around on the side, is there?" Balamus said. Archer glanced over to the young women, seeing them batting eyes at a few of the other patrons. They looked plain, even ordinary to him.

"Ah, don't push your luck Balamus, they're probably not interested," Archer said.

"How would you know?" Balamus said. "A few good-looking women like them wouldn't walk into a tavern like this without their men with them. Plus, I think I caught one of their eyes. I'm gonna go over there."

Archer didn't say anything as Balamus got up to leave, mostly because he wanted to see in which of the many ways the Dunmer could get rejected, and he was content with being a passive observer. A few moments of watching Balamus' attempts to charm the ladies, and Archer heard the doors open again, but he paid no attention to it, until he noticed who it was that came in.

Lydia made her way past some bar patrons, not noticing his presence, and sat down on one of the wooden stools at the bar table, ordering herself a mead. Archer silently observed Lydia, debating whether or not to approach her. He didn't know why he should be debating the matter at all. Maybe he simply wanted to be next to a familiar face, or maybe he still felt a tinge of guilt for what he caused to happen between them back in Jorrvaskr. After looking back at Balamus' situation and seeing as how it didn't look like he was about to be slapped any time soon, he stood up and made his way to where Lydia sat.

"Ready for tomorrow?" he asked her as he slid into a conveniently empty stool beside her.

Her head turned to face him. "Oh, Archer, I didn't see you there," she said. "How long have you been here?"

"I came in some time ago."

"Is Balamus here too?"

"Yeah, he's currently flirting with a few women over there. Looks like he might actually be getting somewhere. Well, he hasn't been smacked yet, at least."

She smiled at his humor. "I'm sure that'll change soon enough. I'd give him a minute more."

Archer cracked a small smile at her sense of humor, which was something that they somehow seemed to share. Lydia's eyes darted down to Archer's chest, where her eyes suddenly widened at the sight of the puncture hold in his leather armor.

"Sweet Mara, what happened to you?" Lydia asked, worried. "Did you get shot? Are you alright?" Archer gestured for her to calm down.

"Relax, I'm fine," Archer assured. "Yes, I got shot in the chest, but I lived."

"How? That hole looks like it went through your heart," Lydia said.

"On a human, that might have been the case, but not for me," Archer replied. Seeing Lydia's perplexed face, he explained further.

Turning to fully face her, he said, "The arrow hit me here," he circled the hole in his armor with his claw, "and went right through a lung, I'm pretty sure, but that wouldn't kill me. A heart on a human is right here," he circled a fist-sized area that partly went over the arrow-hole, "but _my_ heart is right _here_," he moved his finger and circled a spot beside the puncture wound, closer to the center of his chest.

"So it was just being an Argonian that saved you?" Lydia asked.

"Well… yeah, that explains it pretty well," he answered. He raised his mug to his mouth and took a sip of his wine, before lowering the mug back down onto the table. He looked to his side to see Lydia's concerned face.

"My Thane, you're not drinking _too_ much, I hope?" she asked, a slight underlying tone of worry evident. He shook his head.

"No, don't worry about it, I'm not getting drunk this time," he said. "Just some light wine to pass the night."

His answer seemed to relieve her a bit, and she settled back down onto her stool, taking her drink as the waitress brought it to her. At least she seemed just as keen on forgetting their ordeal as he was.

"Have you got everything ready for tomorrow?" Archer asked her, reiterating his earlier question.

"Everything's ready, my Thane," Lydia replied, nursing her drink. "I've got my bag packed with whetstones, spare clothes, rations, and potions. I packed a few apples in there too."

He smiled, wondering how she somehow remembered how much he liked apples. She must've been quite receptive of little details. Maybe it was her guard training.

"You've been busy," he noted. "Never knew you'd take such enthusiasm in packing up for a trip."

"Yeah, well, staying in Whiterun for a few weeks doing little in the way of physical activity can do that to you," Lydia said. Archer wasn't sure whether or not she intended to make him feel a bit more guilty, but he did anyways.

"How about you, My Thane? Are you ready for the trip?" Lydia asked. "It is, after all, your quest."

"Yes, I'm perfectly ready," Archer said with confidence. "I've trained long and hard with the Companions, and I've gotten a real taste of battle experience to go with it." He paused for a moment, thinking. Then he added, "If there's anything that the Companions have taught me, it's how to kill with a heart like arctic ice." He sighed. Lydia's features smoothened in realization.

"You still don't like killing, do you?" Lydia asked.

Archer shook his head in affirmation. "No, I don't. I understand that anybody else who tries to kill me has to die in order for me to live. It's the same philosophy as when I go hunting. The thing is... while I know it's necessary, I still do not enjoy shedding blood." His face became sullen, remembering his life back in Cyrodiil. "I remember my father telling me that one should only kill out of necessity. He rarely ever kills for sport, and neither do I. Any killing other than for my own survival or that of others, he told me, is wasteful of the gods-gift of life. I still try to heed his advice, but all these experiences I get in battle are making it hard for me to follow his advice."

"Your father was a good man," Lydia told him. "I'd have to say that he's right, and that you're right for following his advice. My blade has only ever been bloodied in the defense of others, and I intend to keep it that way."

"Good to hear," Archer said. "To be fair, while the Companions have taught me to fight, they're still rather friendly, normal people. Though, sometimes I think they take a bit too much pride in their scars, especially Skjor."

"It's a part of Nordic warrior tradition," Lydia told him. "Maybe If you had a scar, you'd understand better."

"I do have scars, I just don't care to show them off," Archer replied. Lydia looked at him quizzically.

"What sort of scars do _you_ have?" she asked.

"Besides the one I just got from being shot earlier today?" Archer asked.

Archer smirked, and turned his body to face her. "I was a young man when I got my scars," he said. "It was on a hunting trip in Cyrodiil. In my stupidity, I thought it would've been a good idea to shoot for an impressive bull elk that I found, during rutting season. I got in close for a shot, but he caught my scent."

"What happened?" Lydia asked.

Archer put his hand into a claw-like position and raked it across his left side, over his abdomen and flank. "He charged at me," he explained simply. Lydia nearly winced at the thought. "He left me with a few pretty nasty scars there, but he ended off with something worse: my claw through his eye. Good thing my father was able to shoot him dead after he stepped off of me, else I might've gone out of there with more than just a couple of scars."

Just then, they heard a loud smack, and both of them turned around to see what had happened. Balamus was rubbing his cheek with a surprised expression on his face as a young woman walked away from him, an offended look on her face.

Archer and Lydia looked at each other. Then, Archer started to snicker, seriously attempting to resist laughing, but quickly failed, his snickering having evolved into full-blown laughter. Lydia looked at him, feeling her lip starting to curl into a smile, and she quickly began chuckling, joining him in laughter. A few patrons who had seen the scene laughed too, joining in on the mirth. Balamus heard them laughing, and scowled at them, storming off angrily to another corner of the tavern. The building quieted down after Balamus left, and the patrons continued on with their night.

"I can't believe it! He finally went too far," Lydia remarked, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye.

"Oh, trust me, this hasn't been the first time this has happened," Archer said, "but this _was_ the first time it happened to him in the middle of the tavern." Looking at her, he said, jokingly, "You know, I never thought you knew how to laugh."

"I could say the same for you, my Thane," Lydia responded in the same joking manner. She picked up her mug and drained the last of its contents before setting it back down again. "Well, my Thane, I believe that we should be getting to bed soon, if we plan on getting an early start on our trip tomorrow."

Archer, suddenly remembering Skjor's proposal, got off his stool. "Yes, I agree, but I have to go do something now."

"Now? At this time of night?" Lydia asked. "My Thane, I'm fairly certain any shop is closed at this hour."

"I'm not going to a shop," Archer said. "I need to meet with Skjor in... Jorrvaskr."

"Skjor? What're you going to do over there?" Lydia asked.

"Is it really of your concern? Just let me go about my business," Archer told her. She stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Yes, actually, it _is_ my business," Lydia said. "I'm still your Housecarl, if you haven't already forgotten."

"What is it that you're so worried about?"

"What I'm worried about is the fact that you're being called to a meeting with someone late at night with nobody around. Doesn't that seem the least bit suspicious?"

Archer paused for a moment, and said, "Yes, it does seem a bit strange. But the Companions are a good bunch, and I trust them. Don't you?"

"I wouldn't trust them as much as you do, My Thane. But regardless, there's got to be a reason for such secrecy."

"Which is why I aim to go over there to find out what's going on. Since when did you give a damn about my welfare so much?"

"As Housecarl, it's my _job_ to give a damn about your welfare, _my Thane_," Lydia said. "How can I do that if you keep pushing me away?"

"I'm not pushing you away," Archer said.

"Yes, you are," Lydia said. "You keep insisting on going about things alone and telling me to leave you alone to do them. How is that not pushing me away?" she asked.

Archer sighed. "I didn't want to make this into a big scene," he muttered. "Look, I know you don't know the Companions like I do, least of all Skjor, but I trust them. I've fought alongside all of them at least once, and I've beaten every one of them in a spar at least once as well. I'm sure that they won't cause me any harm, but if they do, then I can defend myself. I'm not the same Argonian I was when you first met me, you know."

"I know." Lydia's expression softened to one of quiet worry. "Just be careful, Archer."

Archer, understanding her words as a tacit dismissal, made his way towards the doors of the Bannered Mare. He pushed his way through the door, leaving the sounds of drinking men and women behind him and walking into an atmosphere almost completely devoid of noise. Masser and Secunda silently loomed in the vast night sky. The city at night was quiet, with all its residents either having gone to bed or to the tavern. The guards were the only one around, patrolling the city. Archer was glad that he wouldn't have to explain to them what he was doing out this late at night, given that Jorrvaskr was a short walk away.

He made his way through the Gildergreen circle, the gray tree's branches hanging without blossoms, and he made his way towards the general direction of the Skyforge. Skjor was standing outside, a torch in hand, the flame glowing against the dull grey metal of Skjor's Wolf armor as he watched Archer approach him. Archer stopped only a few feet away.

"Are you prepared for what you will recieve?" asked Skjor.

Hesitantly, Archer nodded. Skjor turned around, and pressed something on the stone wall of the Skyforge behind him. There was a scraping sound as a section of the stone sheathed itself into the wall, revealing a previously unnoticed hidden passageway. Skjor entered, and Archer followed him after marveling over the hidden door for a moment. The door sheathed itself as Archer entered, who turned around to look at the door and make sure he didn't catch his tail in it. When he turned around to look at Skjor, his blood suddenly ran cold at the sight of the Werewolf in the room.

The beast was enormous, as large as a bear, but with the general semblance of a wolf. He reached for his sword, but Skjor stopped him, saying "I trust you wouldn't attack Aela in her Beast Form."

It took a few moments for what Skjor had just said to register in Archer's mind.

"You mean that _thing_ is Aela?" he asked, shocked. How could the red-haired huntress he had become acquainted with also be such a shaggy, feral creature?

The Werewolf snarled at being called a thing, and Archer took a step back in fear. "Take care not to call her a _thing_; she can still understand you, just as she can as a human," Skjor told him. Archer looked back and forth once between the werewolf and Skjor before he finally released the grip on his weapons.

"What is it exactly that you wish to give me?" Archer asked, eyeing the giant predator in the room cautiously.

"You've been initiated into the Circle, but you won't be a full part of our group until you accept our gift," he said. "As has been revealed to you, the members of the Circle have the Beast Blood within them, a gift from the Daedric Lord Hircine. With it, we can turn into a more powerful form: a werewolf."

Archer's eyebrows rose. "You're going to make _me_ into a werewolf?" Archer asked.

"Yes. You would be able to fight better, run faster, and overpower any opponent. You would be the ultimate hunter," he said.

"And if I say no?" Archer asked. Skjor shrugged.

"If you don't accept, we'll understand, but you won't be considered officially part of the Circle until you accept this gift."

Archer thought for a moment. He had never anticipated being given the gift of Lycanthropy before. Should he accept the gift? Yes, he'd become much more powerful than before, and he'd hopefully be able to accomplish his tasks with more ease, but at what costs? Obviously, he'd be weak to silver weaponry in this new form. He'd be accepting the blessing of a Daedric Lord as well. It shouldn't be a problem, though, if he didn't go about actively worshipping Hircine. He still much favored the pantheon of the Eight Divines, and the Hist. Then, a technical question sprung up in his mind.

"Would this even work for me?" Archer asked. "I thought that Argonians were immune to the disease that causes lycanthropy. Or at least, I've heard."

"This isn't a disease," Skjor replied. "This is a blessing from a Daedric Lord. It's much more powerful than any strain of lycanthropy. I have confidence that it will work."

Archer paused for the moment, still unsure. What argument could he have to make him not accept the gift? At the moment, he couldn't think of any.

"Make your choice, Archer," Skjor prodded. He didn't want to be kept waiting.

Archer mulled over the thoughts for a moment longer before he answered, "I'll do it."

Skjor nodded once in affirmation, before taking out a steel dagger. He walked over to Aela and grabbed her arm. He placed the arm over the stone bowl-like structure in the center of the room and then placed the dagger to her arm. He slit her arm, the force being just enough to break the skin and cause blood to pour into the bowl. When the blood level was at an appropriate level, Skjor removed her arm from the bowl. Aela's werewolf body would regenerate lost blood sooner than a normal human, so Archer wasn't concerned about that. What he _was_ concerned about, however, was why Skjor had partially filled the bowl with Aela's blood.

"Do I dare ask what that was for?" Archer asked, pointing at the dark red substance.

"In order to give you lycanthropy, you must drink the blood from a willing forebear."

Archer's eye ridges rose in surprise. "You expect me to _drink_ her blood?" he asked in horror.

"Yes... I just said so," Skjor said. "No, this is not some sort of sick joke. The other members of the Companions had to do this, just like you. Now go on and drink it to accept this powerful gift."

Archer looked back at the blood, dark red and stagnant. It was sickening just looking at it. He had once bitten a bandit's throat in a last-ditch effort to kill him. Having gotten a taste of blood, he decided that he didn't like the taste at all, and he resolved to only do such a thing when the situation required it for his survival. Now he was expected to drink it? He walked over to it, and looked at it more closely. He really did _not_ want to do this.

"Do I have to drink all of it?" he asked meekly.

Skjor sighed with impatience. "Just enough for the blessing to take effect. Now drink."

Archer looked at the bowl one last time, before bending over it. He supported himself with one hand on the rim of the bowl, while the other slowly scooped up the red substance. The blood was still warm from its previous owner. He shut his eyes in anticipation, and poured some into his mouth. He nearly gagged at the iron-like bitter flavor of the blood filling his mouth as it washed over his tongue, but he swallowed.

The blood's flavor was suddenly replaced from something vile and disgusting to something else. It tasted different now, more bitter than before, but not in a bad way. His eyes shot open as he felt strange sensations pulsing throughout his body. His body was receiving the blessing. He felt his limbs growing longer, his bones stretching to accompany the new length, inciting some discomforted, pained hisses from Archer. He stumbled backwards into the wall behind him as he let the strange forces occupying his body to morph him. He suddenly felt a flash of cold, then surprising heat coming from an unknown source from within himself: he was turning warm-blooded. His body formed hair follicles all across his torso, limbs, and head, and thick, well-defined hairs grew out of them, all throughout his body. His hissing and grunting was now starting to give way to a mix of feral growls and snarls. His reptilian snout began morphing into a lupine muzzle, his sharp teeth growing and changing to become more wolflike, giving him pronounced canines. Finally, his body began to hunch over as he grew more muscle mass, bulking up to an incredible size to match his new body.

The creature, now fully transformed, finally collapsed onto his front limbs, panting from exertion. In a few moments, however, its eyes shot open. They were not steel-colored, like Farkas', or amber, like Aela's, but golden. The Argonian werewolf stood up on its two powerful hind legs, sizing up the other two beings in the room. Then, it opened its arms, revealing 10 wicked claws at the ends of its fingers, and let out an earsplitting roar.

**A/N: Alright, so that's the end of this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Remember to leave a review if you have any questions, comments, or constructive criticism. Praise is all good and well, but any advice would be welcome. I love reading what you've got to say about my stuff! **


	13. Field Test

**A/N: Here you go, guys, chapter 13. Personally, I kind of like this chapter, because more things happen and get done. The waits for each chapter are rather long, I know, but I juggle a lot of stuff between online and real life. Some of you other writers out there might know what I'm talking about. ****This chapter's a bit shorter than the last few, but it still isn't lacking in action, I hope.**

**Kyubbiman: I'm glad you like the explanation I put to explain the Argonian Werewolf concept. I knew that in some previous Elder Scrolls games Argonians couldn't become werewolves, so I figured that a Daedric blessing is more powerful than the disease that gives lycanthropy.**

**Ralf Jones: I was actually thinking of almost having Archer decline the gift of lycanthropy at one point, but I decided I liked the idea of him becoming a werewolf more, because it had potential for more to write about.**

The door to the Bannered Mare creaked open, and Lydia silently stepped out. She scanned the market area, and she caught sight of Archer's form walking towards Jorrvaskr. She steeled herself and began to follow him. She knew her Thane wanted her to leave him to his things, and she knew that she had to respect her Thane's wishes, but there was only so much she would take. She just didn't trust the Companions enough. Yes, some of them seemed like nice enough fellows - admittedly, Farkas had even caught her eye a few times - but she knew something was off when Archer told her he was to meet one of them in the dead of night. He said that they were giving him a gift. What kind of gift would require him to meet with them in a secret place at night, when nobody would see them?

She rounded the corner and turned to the steps of Jorrvaskr, hearing Archer's and Skjor's voices mumbling from this distance. She took care to not make any sound, silently cursing her armor for making noise whenever she took a step. She eventually settled for standing completely still. She tried to make out what they said, but all she could hear was their partly-muted voices, indistinguishable from this distance, and she didn't dare run the risk of getting closer, out of fear that they'd hear her. She didn't even poke her head out from behind her corner. She just stood there, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible voices.

Eventually, she heard a grinding sound, like to flat stones rubbing up against each other, before there was complete silence. She craned her neck to hear better, but there was no sound to be heard. She risked a few steps forward, then took the chance to completely walk out into the open. Her Thane, and Skjor, were gone.

She looked around, trying to see if she could find them anywhere. She debated to herself whether she should check inside, but she hadn't even heard the wooden doors open to let them in, and if she were caught, there'd be no telling what they'd make of her intrusion. Besides, they probably wouldn't want to disturb those who were sleeping inside. So where did they go? Her eyes caught sight of the stone wall where she was sure Archer and Skjor were standing only moments ago. She walked up to it and inspected it, remembering the stories she read as a child about the dungeons with hidden passages, their release lever cleverly hidden in some way or another.

Her hands felt around the rock, eventually finding some small crevasses that formed a circular shape on the stone, large enough so that were it a hole, she could probably walk through it. So the cracks in the rock weren't natural. She looked around to see if she could find the hidden door's entrance button or lever, but her probing hands could not detect one, especially in the darkness, while she lacked a torch. She didn't want to alert them to her presence just yet, but she wanted to be able to get inside in case her Thane got into trouble in there. Tentatively, she put her ear to the door, hoping that she'd be able to get bits and pieces of any conversation that went within.

She could hear voices, but the stone wall that separated her from its inner chamber distorted the voices, making them indistinct and not understandable. She furrowed her brows in frustration, and her hands fumbled around in the dark once more, trying to find the release button in vain. She made sure to try and keep her ear to the door as she probed about in the dark.

She suddenly stiffened when she distinctly heard Archer's muffled cry. She couldn't make out any words, but the muffled sounds of his struggling was unmistakable. Lydia forced herself to keep a cool head, but she tried more desperately now to try and open the door, worried about what in Oblivion was happening to her Thane. More than just her honorary duty was on the line. The struggling sounds ceased, and Lydia noticed it with some fear. She stopped, and she returned her ear to the door, carefully listening for her Thane's movement. She heard nothing.

The sudden roar that exploded from within made her jump back in shock, her hand instinctually flying to the hilt of her sword, more out of fear than anything. The roar had been greatly muffled from being behind the stone wall, but she was close enough so that it would sound as if whatever had roared was right next to her. _What the hell was that? _She looked at the door with wide eyes, before moving back to her spot in front of it. The sounds of increased struggle were audible, and Skjor's commanding voice could be heard speaking loudly from within. She stepped away from the stone, partly out of fear.

The stone door panel that was indeed hidden under the Skyforge sheathed itself into the wall, and a giant dark mass barreled out from the opening. The creature fell before her, panting as it held itself up on its forearms. At first, Lydia thought it was a kind of black bear, until the creature's head shot up to look at her. Her blood ran cold, and she opened her mouth, maybe to cry out in fear, or curse aloud, but only a small gasp came out as she looked at the werewolf in front of her.

The creature growled, revealing white, sharp canines, each as long as a man's finger. It adjusted its footing, and it stood up on its two hind legs, coming to tower a good foot or so above Lydia, now looking down on her with hungry, golden eyes. Wait. _Golden eyes..._ _Archer?_

As Lydia's mind vacillated between trying to comprehend what was happening and whether to run away or fight, another Werewolf came out from behind and grabbed the first one. The first one let out a threatening half-bark, struggling under the second werewolf's grip, before slipping out from under it and bolting towards the courtyard. The werewolf easily jumped over the relatively stone wall with a grace that belied its bulk, before it dashed towards the east, with the other lycan following closely behind. As Lydia stared in shock and awe, she looked to one side to see Skjor standing outside as well, turning his head to regard the place where the twin werewolves had jumped over, before turning it towards Lydia's frightened, pale face.

Skjor set his jaw and squinted at Lydia, recognizing Archer's housecarl from her frequent presence near Jorrvaskr as she watched carefully over her Thane. He walked up to her, and said, "Are you alright?"

Lydia looked at Skjor with bewilderment for a moment, before she said, "What... _the hell_... was _that?!"_ Her voice still shook slightly from fear, but a more prominent tone of anger mingled with it, along with accusation.

"We offered Archer Lycanthropy, a gift from Hircine," Skjor told her.

"You made Archer into a werewolf? With a Daedric blessing? _Are you insane?"_ Lydia nearly shouted, putting her hands to her head. Skjor motioned for her not to shout.

"Do you want to alert the entire guard and send Whiterun into hysteria?" Skjor asked. "All the members of the Circle are Werewolves, including me and Aela, and we've kept good control over our nature. He's not going to hurt anybody."

"He looked at me like a starved dog to a ham bone! I'm pretty sure that he would've ripped my throat out if the other one hadn't tackled him," Lydia said.

"That other one was Aela. She just went off with him to make sure he... _behaves,_" Skjor said. "Don't worry, he won't get into trouble. We'll make sure of it. I gotta go follow them now, before they get too far. Sleep safe." With that, Skjor turned and ran towards the courtyard behind Jorrvaskr, clambering over the stone wall before following after the two werewolves.

As he disappeared over the top of the wall, Lydia paused for a moment in thought, attempting to take in what she had just been told. She shook her head, and then she turned and began walking back to the Bannered Mare, slightly shaken by the night's events. She was going to need some mead to help process this.

* * *

When conscious thought slowly returned to Archer, he was aware of several aches on his body. It felt almost like he had just run from Riverwood to Whiterun and then back. His face contorted into a small grimace, and he slowly blinked his eyes open. From what he could tell, it was still night time. The moons were high in the sky, basking the Skyrim landscape in an eerie glow. He groaned, and sat upright from his lying-down position. Trying to remember last night, he realized that the last thing he remembered was drinking Aela's blood and feeling strange.

He heard the soft padded crunching of dirt underneath boots, and he looked up to see Aela walking towards him slowly. The lit torch she held in her left hand illuminated her observant face.

"You've finally awoken," she noted. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't wake up."

Archer groaned slightly as he sat upright to look at her. "What happened to me?" he asked her, holding his head.

"You took in the blessing, and the transformation was a success," Aela said. "I'll admit, you gave us quite a time. You gave us even more trouble than Farkas on his turning."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly aware of my actions," Archer replied.

"It's no matter. What does matter is that you've become one of us," Aela said. "In fact, Skjor and I have prepared a celebration for you." Her face suddenly got an amused kind of smile, and she said, "But first, you might want to put these on." She reached into her bag and pulled out some clothes. Archer gave her a confused look, until he finally realized that he was naked. She chuckled lightly as she tossed the clothes at Archer, who caught them in midair, before turning away to let him dress.

How had he not known that he was nude? He didn't even feel the cold nip of Skyrim's night, something unusual for him. Perhaps becoming a Werewolf also gave him warmth? Either way, he didn't really care that Aela had seen him. He was only thankful that she had brought clothes for him to wear, and that one of them was thoughtful enough to cut open a hole in the pants for his tail to go through.

"Alright, so, what is it that you've got for me next?" Archer asked, pulling on the pair of breeches she gave him.

"There's an encampment of Silver Hand warriors nearby, and we're going to slaughter all of them," Aela said. "Skjor recently went out to scout it out. We're going to follow behind now."

Pulling the shirt over his head, Archer nodded to her. Glancing over her shoulder to check if he was decent, Aela reached into her pack and took out a small potion.

"This'll take care of the aches," she said, handing the small green vial to Archer. He uncorked the bottle and chugged down the contents easily. He almost instantly felt the gratifying feeling of having his aches seemingly vanish. He nodded a thanks to Aela.

"What about my weapons?" Archer asked her.

"Your armor was torn apart when you grew out of them, and we weren't able to grab your weapons, either," she said. "You can grab some weapons off of one of the Silver Hand, though. They should have at least one bow for you, too."

Archer followed Aela to where the Silver Hand camp was. He surely didn't feel as safe without his weapons and armor on him, but he'd have to make do with what he had. Thankfully, he wasn't without a means to fight; his claws would make for a suitable backup weapon should he get caught in a front-up fight. They walked up a small incline to where a large stone fort could be seen in the distance.

"Let's not engage them directly, there's only two of us to fight them," Aela said.

"But we've got surprise on our side," Archer replied. "I see one holding a bow up there," Archer pointed to the top of the fort, where a wooden catwalk looked over the rest of the courtyard. "I think I can get up there and take their weapon. I can shoot the rest from up there."

"We'll take turns shooting, to confuse them," Aela said.

Archer turned to sneak up the side of the hill of snowy rocks, taking care not to slip on the ice. He was momentarily surprised that he wasn't losing very much heat from being out in the cold, probably another side effect of being a werewolf. The Silver Hand warrior looked out over the encampment below, a longbow strapped to her back. Archer silently went behind and covered her mouth with his left hand while his right went right to her throat, digging his claws deep. The Bosmer struggled slightly as Archer dragged her down and pulled her out of sight, allowing him to see the look of fear in her eyes. Aswift movement from his hand reduced her cries to airy gargles, inaudible from their position.

Upon seeing her blood run through his hands, down along his wrists, pooling on the floor, something inside of him clicked. He felt a sudden satisfaction at seeing the blood spilt before him, something that he'd never felt before. It was almost as if a primitive desire was being fulfilled. He instantly knew that he wanted more, but the light of reason shone through his mind's fog before he could do anything else. Archer had no idea what these sudden urges were, but he furiously shook his head clear of any distracting thoughts. He couldn't be distracted by thoughts of bloodshed now; he had to focus on aiming his next shots.

The elf's movements finally ceased, and Archer lay her body down before retrieving the longbow from her body, not bothering to wipe his hands clean. The weapon wouldn't be ideal for maneuvering in small spaces or getting shots off quickly, with its long frame and heavy string tension, but it would pack more of a punch than the hunting bow he was used to. He pulled off the quiver of silver-tipped arrows and placed them on his back. Pulling out an arrow, he slowly rose, loaded the arrow, and picked his target.

The arrow shot out from the bowstring with a speed that surprised even Archer, and only a moment later the arrow embed itself in the back of a Silver Hand. The others immediately recognized the threat, but Archer had dropped back behind cover, while Aela popped out of her cover and let off her own arrow, dropping another warrior with a shot to the back of his skull. She had already hidden into cover when Archer raised himself to fire off another arrow. The Silver Hand shouted out alarms, believing themselves to be surrounded, vainly trying to find cover from the arrows, coming from directions they could not discern. Amongst their confusion, the two Companions repeated this back-and-forth shooting, and in a few seconds the Silver Hand were all dead, none of them having known that they were fighting against only two skilled archers instead of several. Archer went down to Aela's level and entered Gallows Rock with her without a word.

The entrance reeked of death. That was the first thing that Archer noticed when he walked through the door into the first room. There were severed werewolf heads skewered through spikes and placed about the room, to serve as a warning to intruders. Archer cringed slightly out of horror, but Aela was visibly disgusted. They walked past the skewered heads without a second glance.

Archer began to think about his present situation as the two of them made their way through the fort, killing any Silver Hand who got in the way. He was a werewolf now, a blessing given to him by Hircine, a Daedric lord. He had made peace long ago with the fact that there'd be nothing he could do to make himself more Argonian by nature, but he still believed that the Hist would still accept him if he remained faithful to it, even if he wasn't truly an Argonian. Also, despite him having accepted the blessing from Hircine, he wasn't going to begin worshipping him. He never really liked the Daedra anyways, but if the other members of the Circle wanted to worship a potentially-temperamental godlike entity, then let them.

Barring spiritual matters aside, he had a new enemy now, the Silver Hand, but he wasn't worried about them at all. They were generally unskilled in melee, not much better than common bandits, with only a few good fighters here and there. Currently, their lack of skill in combat was what allowed him and Aela to easily fight past those who weren't killed from the shadows. A warrior in steel plate armor swung his sword at Archer, who parried the blow and quickly counterattacked, thrusting his borrowed sword into the man's more vulnerable armpit. Archer pulled his sword out and sent lightning into the Silver Hand's body, the man having been too slow to bash with his shield. The man fell dead after a few agonizing moments. Archer spotted an archer taking aim from atop some stone steps, and he dodged into cover to avoid getting shot. Aela thrust her dagger into the stomach of a Silver Hand warrior who got too close, before she spotted the archer herself. She pulled her bow out quickly and fired an arrow into the man's head, sending him to the floor. The last Silver Hand intelligently went for Aela while she was vulnerable, having her bow out instead of a melee weapon, but a lightning bolt from Archer slammed into his side before he could attack, killing him in mid-swing. They looked around, lowering their weapons slightly when no others came out from the shadows to challenge them. They walked up the stone steps to the second floor.

"We're getting close. Be careful, their leader is a tricky one," Aela silently warned Archer. "They call him, "The Skinner"." Archer didn't want to think why they called him so.

They walked on through the narrow passages, before they came across a door. Archer put his face to the door's lock to see if he could look inside. The next room was spacious, with several tanning racks placed about. However, all the Silver Hand seemed to be crowded around something, or rather, someone. They were probably torturing an unlucky werewolf. It sickened Archer to know these people took pleasure in torturing others. He heard the Silver Hand warriors shouting as several of their members bent down to beat their prisoner:

"This is what you pathetic _dogs_ get!"

"We're doing Skyrim a favor by getting rid of these filthy _beasts_."

"I'm going to enjoy hearing you scream, _Companion_."

Archer's eyes turned to slits as he realized who it was they were torturing.

He kicked the door open, an arrow already loaded in his bow. He pulled the bowstring back as quickly as he could manage and fired the arrow, immediately striking down the nearest Silver Hand. He quickly loaded his bow once more and fired another arrow, killing a second warrior who dumbly stared at him instead of rushing for a weapon, before Aela fired her own bow, taking out yet another man. Two men from the group finally had weapons in hand and left to rush at them, but Archer extended a hand to send a lightning bolt into one of the men's head, charring his brain, and Aela shot the second man in the stomach before he could reach Archer, sending him to his knees, but not killing him. The Argonian quickly remedied that when he manually rammed an arrow through the base of the man's skull, killing him instantly.

Archer turned his head towards the last Silver Hand, bringing up his bow and a loaded arrow. However, he stopped himself from firing when he noticed that the warrior had a dagger at Skjor's throat.

"Unless you want your friend here to get his throat cut open, I'd suggest you two back off, now," said The Skinner.

"You bastard, stop hiding behind him and face your death," Aela growled, her own arrow loaded.

"Not a chance," he said.

The Skinner wore steel armor, so he had little fear of Aela's shortbow, which wouldn't have enough penetrating power to get past the steel plate, or Archer's longbow, since he was using borrowed, weak silver-tipped arrowheads that would have a hard time penetrating even the thick chain mail he probably wore underneath, if he even allowed Archer the few precious seconds he needed to draw back the heavy bowstring. Archer's mind sped through his options, settling for using a Shout to surprise him.

He inhaled sharply and quickly Shouted: _"Fus Ro!"_

The Shout caused the Skinner to stumble backwards slightly, away from Skjor. Archer dropped his bow and rushed towards the Skinner, tackling him into the wall before he could regain his footing. The man grunted as his metal armor clanged against the stone wall behind him with force. Archer snarled in pain at the feeling of recklessly slamming his unarmored body against the steel chestplate, but regardless he grabbed the man and pushed him roughly to one side. He pulled out his sword against the warrior, who now only held a dagger in his hand.

The man tried to parry Archer's sword, but ended up getting his armored wrist knocked away. Archer did a backhand slash with his sword, and his sword scraped across the smooth surface of the plate armor. The Skinner regained his footing, and he thrust forward with his knife. The knife made a shallow cut in Archer's flank as the Argonian swiftly twisted his torso, and in that moment, Aela fired her arrow at the man's chest. The arrow made him stumble backwards a step, but it was the only opening Archer needed. He thrust his sword into a gap in the man's leg armor, the sword going deep through the Skinner's leg.

The man cried out in pain as he landed on his back with a loud thud, his head also hitting the stone floor forcefully. The fall knocked the wind out of him and stunned him, allowing Archer to quickly grab the dagger from his open palm. The Argonian then pushed the Skinner's visor open to reveal the pale face of the petrified Nord.

"Mercy! Mer-" The Skinner's cry for mercy was cut brutally short as Archer stabbed down with the dagger once, burying the knife in his face to ensure that the man was dead. Archer pulled his hands away, leaving the knife embedded into The Skinner's eye.

"Oh gods, Skjor..." he heard Aela say in shock behind him. Archer turned around and walked over to where Skjor lay on his back, with Aela crouching over him, concerned.

Archer grimaced at the sight of Skjor's tortured body. Skjor's armor had been removed, allowing them access to his torso and the rest of his unarmored body. They had beaten him brutally all over his body, especially his face, where his broken jaw and cut-open cheek gave him a ghastly appearance. He had bloody stripes across his back, evidence of thorough lashings with a leather, and his knee was evidently broken. Dark bruises tattooed his ribs, and various lacerations could be seen on his arms and legs. He may as well have been dead, and Archer would've assumed as much had his chest not been rising and falling with each ragged, labored breath. He could've been crippled beyond healing, by the way he looked, but Archer tried to fix him anyways.

"Hang on, Skjor," Archer said, summoning the most powerful healing magic he knew. He placed his hand on Skjor's bruised shoulder and pumped the Restoration magic into him, seeing the purple blotches fade and get smaller, and the shallower cuts getting mended quickly. However, Archer noted grimly, the deeper cuts did not completely heal, as the skin on top merged together without the muscles being mended completely. Some of the larger bruises did not completely fade, managing to only get much smaller.

Finally, Archer's restoration had no more effect, and he ceased pumping the magic into the Nord's tired body. Skjor's shoulders rose and fell slowly now, returning to his normal breath rate.

"I've done what I could. I healed as well as I knew, but I fear that some of those blows may have been crippling," Archer said grimly.

"Doesn't matter," Skjor exhaled. "I wont let a bodily imperfection stop me. It hasn't stopped me before. I've got my scar to remind me of that." While the Nord may have seemed crazy for running into a fort without immediate aid, Archer admired his sense of determination.

"What happened? How did they get you?" Aela asked. Skjor groaned.

"They found me out. I tried to fight them back, but there were too many," he said.

As good as Skjor may have been, or as good as he thought he was, there was very little chance of him being able to have fended off all of these Silver Hand. Some battles can simply be won with quantity over quality.

Aela sighed. "At least you're not dead. I really think that it would've been better if you'd come with a Shield-Brother."

"I'll be fine after I get a few minutes' worth of rest," Skjor said. He let his head lay back on the stone floor, looking up at the ceiling. Archer knew that he'd really need more than just a few minutes' worth of rest, but they couldn't afford to lose much time. The night wouldn't last forever. Aela turned towards him.

"Archer, I know you've got to leave in the morning," Aela said, "But I need your help in taking Skjor back to Whiterun. I don't want to alert the rest of the Companions about our sudden disappearance."

"Wait, don't the others know about what we're doing?" Archer asked. Aela sighed.

"Kodlak is also endowed with lycanthropy, but he wants to be rid of it," Aela said. "He sees it as a curse, but we see it as a blessing. We wanted to give our gift to you without him intervening. I respect Kodlak, but I didn't want him to stop us from giving you what you deserve."

It seemed a bit devious to do this behind the old man's back, Archer thought, but was he really going to let them get in trouble? He was part of this now as well, he reminded himself.

"Alright, I'll help," Archer nodded.

Aela smiled. "Thank you, Archer. I'm going to go back and look at the bodies, see if I can take any information that is of use to us. We'll leave when Skjor feels good enough to walk."

* * *

Lydia stared blankly into her plate of half-eaten food, a thoughtful look in her eyes. She let out a small sigh.

"Worried about Archer?" Balamus asked, eating his food beside her. He wore a simple cloth shirt and some trousers, not having yet put on his armor, unlike Lydia. The Nord nodded.

"Archer hasn't returned yet from wherever he went off to last night. I don't know where he could be," Lydia said.

"Yeah, I'm a little worried about him too," Balamus said. "Are you sure about what you saw last night? Were you drinking?"

"Yeah, I was drinking a little, but that has nothing to do with what I saw last night," Lydia asserted. "Skjor himself told me that he'd turned Archer into a werewolf. I wouldn't make something up like that, you know I'm serious."

Just then, the door opened, and both of them turned their heads. Archer was standing now in the doorway, wearing some torn clothes with a few noticeable stains. Lydia immediately walked up to him, her eyes going wide at seeing the dried bloodstains that were on his hands, a few stray spatters also visible on his face and his side.

"Archer, what happened to you? Your hands are covered in blood, are you hurt?" Lydia's eyes held great worry, and she suddenly furrowed her brows, saying, "I swear, I will go over to Skjor right now and send my boot right up his-"

"Don't worry, I'm not hurt," Archer said, "I know you followed me last night to Jorrvaskr. I remember seeing you after I turned, but I can't remember anything after that until I finally returned back to normal."

Lydia's eyebrows rose in surprise. She didn't think that he was actually conscious while they had their little staring contest in Jorrvaskr before he ran off into the wild.

Archer spoke again: "This blood isn't mine, it belonged to a Silver Hand warrior, a group of werewolf hunters. And you won't have to worry about beating Skjor either. He's already been sent to his bed for a few days, along with a visit from the healer," Archer said, a more serious tone of voice taking over.

Lydia's face smoothened. "What happened last night?" she asked.

"When I woke up last night, Aela was there, and together, we attacked a nearby Silver Hand-occupied fort. As it turned out, Skjor, who had been sent to scout the place, got caught, and they tortured him all the while, planning to kill him later, I assume. I tried my best to heal him, but I could only do so much. He'll be alright, though. He's a tough man."

Lydia remained silent, as did Balamus beside her, who quietly listened to Archer's story. As much as she didn't like what Skjor did to Archer, she didn't think he deserved to be beaten as brutally as Archer implied.

"So, you really _are_ a werewolf now? A blessing from Hircine?" Balamus asked warily, keeping his voice down upon mentioning werewolf, apparently not believing his story.

The Argonian nodded. "Yes, both are true. It probably doesn't make sense, does it? Any other time, it wouldn't have accepted lycanthropy, but right now, the benefits probably outweigh the negative sides to lycanthropy," Archer said, keeping his voice similarly low. "I don't worship Hircine, nor will I, but at this point, I just want to finish with the Greybeard's quest, plus whatever else will probably await me afterwards, so I can finally learn what is expected of me. Hopefully, though, there's a cure somewhere. I can ask Aela some other time." Balamus shook his head.

"You're really letting yourself go, Archer," he said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "I'm glad they didn't offer me lycanthropy. I'd never taint myself with a blessing from Hircine, on top of being a bloody _mutt_."

Archer, instead of taking offense to the thinly veiled insult, said, "Say what you want, but I have certain advantages with lycanthropy." Smirking, he added, "I can smell your _heartbeat_."

Balamus' eyebrows rose, his hand unconsciously going over his heart. Archer smiled as he shook his head and chuckled. He looked to Lydia, who had not ceased having that same worried expression on her face.

"Come on, Lydia, I'm fine. Enough with the worrying already," Archer said. She looked at him.

"You make me stress out so much for you, it's gonna start turning unhealthy for me," Lydia told him. "I think I'm going to look like a grey-haired old lady by the end of this."

Archer smirked. "Aww, so you _do_ care about me! I knew you didn't have a stone heart!"

Lydia stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I care about you because I need to. It's my_ duty_, remember? But don't you think I'm going to be running after you all the time if you get into trouble. I'm not sacrificing my sanity for your safety."

Archer smiled to himself before sitting down and ordering himself some breakfast. Lydia sat beside him, feeling more alleviated from her previous stress, while Balamus walked back up to his room, still wondering if Archer had been joking when he said he could smell his pulse.

Archer ate a rather hearty breakfast, being slightly generous on the meats this time, while Lydia sat at his side, having already eaten. Archer finished eating quickly, wolfing down the plate with a hurried pace, and he paid for his food before getting up to leave. Balamus walked down in his suit of ringmail and hurried to follow the other two out of the building.

"Where's your armor? You need to get dressed for our trip," Lydia told Archer, pointing out his common clothes.

"I know," Archer replied simply, not breaking a step as he continued walking.

Archer walked over to Jorrvaskr and told the two of them to wait.

"I just have to get my armor from inside, I won't take long," Archer told them. Balamus coolly crossed his arms while Lydia nodded silently. Lydia silently wondered what had happened to his armor when he transformed into a Werewolf, and why he had been wearing normal clothes when he returned. Archer entered the worn wooden building, leaving the two of them. A considerable while passed, and Lydia quickly became restless.

"Well, he's certainly taking his time," Lydia said, shifting impatiently.

"Putting on armor takes some time," Balamus said. "Unless someone helped him out. Isn't that part of your job? Helping him put his armor on?"

"Well...technically yes, if he wishes it," Lydia replied. The doors to Jorrvaskr opened up. Both of them turned their heads. Stepping out of the worn wooden building, Archer smiled as he proudly let Lydia and Balamus inspect the new, gleaming suit of Glass armor that he wore.

Balamus whistled. "Wow, that is some impressive armor, Archer. So this was what you've been cooking up with Eorlund for the past few weeks?" he asked.

"Yeah, and it feels great," Archer said. He turned his gaze towards Lydia, who hadn't said anything yet. She cleared her throat.

"Well, I'll admit, it _is_ a handsome looking set of armor you've got on," Lydia said, nodding appreciatively. "Do you know how to make full use of it? This armor can actually stop weapons now, and you should know how to make use of its full potential."

"I got some of the other Companions to teach me how to use light armor like this one effectively, but I guess I can learn from experience whatever I didn't learn from training," Archer told her.

"Experience is a cruel teacher," Balamus warned. "It gives the exam before it teaches the lesson."

"I know that too well enough as it is," Archer mumbled aside himself. He raised his head up. "Alright, let's get going," he announced, "I want to get to Ustengrav as soon as possible."

The three of them walked over to the gates of Whiterun and the guards opened them to admit the soon to-be travelers. They made it to the stables, where all the gigantic horses stood in their individual stall, each one taller than Archer by at least a foot, their eyes watching them as they passed by. Balamus walked over to his mare, Chestnut.

"Hey, Chestnut, ready to ride?" Balamus silently asked as he looked for the equipment to begin preparing his horse for the ride. The horse snorted at her owner in response.

"Lydia, go help Balamus with preparing his horse, I'll be back soon," Archer said.

Lydia didn't even say anything as Archer walked off once more, but the way her Thane continued leaving to go off someplace without prior notice was beginning to annoy her. She turned to Balamus and his horse and began helping him saddle up the horse appropriately.

Archer walked over to a nearby Nord man, leaning against the stable.

"Hello, are you the owner of this stable?" Archer asked. The owner's eyes widened in instant recognition.

"Yes, Dragonborn, how may I help you?" asked the man, instantly at attention.

"I would like to buy a horse for travel," Archer told him, ignoring his title. The Nord scratched his beard.

"Well, all my horses are in top shape, and rather young too," said the Nord.

"I'm not looking for a warhorse, I just want one that can take a couple of long trips," Archer said.

"Well, our horses aren't usually bred for speed, but I've got a few horses here that are rather lean. Go ahead, take your pick," the owner said. Archer looked over the horses. All of them looked like huge beasts compared to the smaller Cyrodillic horses he was more familiar with. All of them looked like they could probably even send a bear running if they wanted to. Not the best breeds to choose with speed in mind, but least he wouldn't have to be looking after them as much if they got into trouble.

Archer looked over one particular horse, a light brown horse with a vanilla-colored mane. It gently snorted as Archer got near.

"Ah, that's one of our more gentle horses," said the owner. "He'll treat you well if you care for him, and he's generally tolerant of new riders." Archer looked over the horse. He reached out with his hand tentatively, and gently patted the horse on the snout, getting a slight, peaceful nudge from the beast in return.

"Yes, he can do just fine," Archer said, reaching into his wallet. It was a rather large coin bag, but it was enchanted to hold more money than it looked. He fished out a couple of small bags of coins equating to 1000 septims and handed them to the man, who smiled upon weighing the bags.

"Thank you, Dragonborn. He's all yours," said the Nord. "Here, I'll give you the equipment here..." The man handed him the riding equipment and helped him ready the horse. The horse would definitely be useful for traveling. He wasn't as bulky as some of the larger horses, but nevertheless, his large size belied his apparent calm. It was also a good thing that Archer had some experience in the past with riding horses.

"All right, he's ready to ride," said the owner. "Safe travels, Dragonborn."

"Thank you, sir," Archer said, ignoring his title once more. "Oh, and by the way, do you know where I can take this letter for delivery to Cyrodiil?" he asked, showing him his letter to Huleed.

"Usually a courier comes by here every so often and collects all the letters to be mailed, but he won't come for another few days. If you'd like, I can hold your letter for you. I'll give it to the courier with my own mail. It'll be safe with me, I often hold mail for people," said the ostler.

Archer thought carefully before handing over the letter. He thanked the man, and the ostler handed the horse's reins to Archer, who accepted them. The Argonian began leading the horse to Balamus and Lydia, who were just about finished readying Chestnut for riding. Upon hearing their footsteps, Lydia and Balamus turned their heads and looked at the new pair before them.

"You bought a horse," Lydia pointed out. "Did you buy one for me?"

"I only bought one horse," Archer said. "It's easier this way, and we'll have less horses to take care of."

"Alright, but where will I go? I can't be running alongside you two, you know," Lydia said.

"I know that. So you're going to be riding with me," Archer said. "Unless you'd rather share with Balamus, or walk."

"I doubt Chestnut would be able to take both of us without strain," Balamus said, stroking his horse's mane. "Just go with Archer. His horse looks strong enough to carry you both easily."

Archer hoisted himself onto the horse's back, feeling a tingle of excitement upon sitting high on the beast's back, and he turned his head to his housecarl. She finally went ahead and hoisted herself up onto the horse as well, sitting behind Archer. Balamus swiftly got onto Chestnut, patting the mare's neck.

"Alright, let's get going," Archer said. "To Ustengrav." He turned his head to look over his shoulder at Lydia. "You might want to hold on."

Lydia wrapped her arms around Archer's waist a bit awkwardly, before Archer made his horse start walking forward. Balamus' smaller horse followed alongside him.

"Hey, did you decide what you're going to name it?" Balamus asked. Archer paused for a moment.

"I think I'll call him Glaive," Archer said.

"Glaive? Really?"

"Hey, at least it's better than naming it after a kind of nut," Archer said jokingly.

"...Hey!"

Archer laughed, and Balamus shook his head. Finally being out of anybody's way, both of them spurred their horses to run. The sudden jolt made Lydia suddenly squeeze Archer from behind out of fear of falling. In less than half an hour, they had made it out of sight of Whiterun.

* * *

Morthal's swamps looked strange and almost alien to Archer, who hadn't been to many in his life. Many of the few trees they' come across had almost barren branches, and the wilderness was practically infested with bushes of deathbell, beautiful purple flowers that were useful in making lethal poisons and whose presence was associated with the deaths of the ill-fated. The rather thick fog that hung low to the ground also helped give the marshlands a foreboding appearance. Not many creatures lived in the marshes, however, so they were safe to some extent. It was definitely a dramatic change of scenery from the rolling plains of Whiterun that they'd left six days ago.

The three had passed the miserable little swamp town of Morthal a few hours ago, but it was still into the afternoon, with plenty of time left to ride. They'd passed the town, stopping by only to get a few supplies they thought they'd need, and kept on riding towards the northeast, deeper into the marshlands. In all honesty, though, the humid marsh area was rather refreshing to Archer. Despite barely ever having been exposed to such lands, the Argonian held an instinctual predilection towards the humidity. Balamus and Lydia evidently did not share such sentiments. With night falling rapidly at this hour, they decided to make camp for the night, and ride for Ustengrav in the morning.

They set up their camp amongst a small cluster of trees that they'd found. After determining the area to be a relatively safe place for their camp, they'd managed a campfire within half an hour.

"I think that's enough wood for now," Archer said, dumping a few small pieces of wood onto the flames. He sat down near the fire. He reached into his pack and pulled out some hunks of cured venison from a deer he'd shot the previous day, which he handed to Lydia and Balamus.

"Gods, it's been a tiring trip," Balamus said. "I think our horses are just as glad to rest. And eat." He inspected his cold cut of meat briefly before biting into it.

"I hope they'll be safe out there," Archer said, swallowing a small hunk of meat, his sharp teeth making short work of the venison.

"Don't worry, I've cast a Detect Life spell on the area, there isn't anything living around here for miles, save for a rabbit or fox," Balamus said. "I've also taken the liberty of placing magical traps around our general perimeter while getting firewood. Nothing's going to be bothering us tonight."

"I wouldn't put all my trust into some magic," Lydia said. "Magic isn't always a trustworthy thing."

"Says the woman who's never even cast a magelight spell in her life," Balamus replied. "Magic is perfectly controllable and trustworthy to those who take the time to practice it and harness its power to its full-"

"Hey, Balamus, you hear that?" Lydia asked suddenly. He stopped, and he took the moment to listen. But he couldn't hear anything out of the usual. Only the distant, common sounds of animal calls.

"That's the sound of me ignoring you," Lydia said, biting into her venison once again. Balamus shut his mouth and humphed, before biting into his meat anew. Archer smirked to himself. She was starting to become more likable, to him anyways. She was becoming more patient with him, and she was visibly starting to feel more comfortable around him. At this point, he'd see her as maybe a little closer than a friend at arm's distance, but nothing more.

Actually, he thought, considering the fact that she'd have to wrap her arms around his chest or stomach every time they rode their horse, he'd have to say that she was definitely closer than arm's distance.

They finished their meal and sat in silence.

"So we ride to Ustengrav next morning?" Balamus asked.

"That's right," Archer said. "I think I've held back on this task long enough. Whatever we find in there can't be too difficult."

"We might face up against considerable challenges, if Arngeir had to warn us about them beforehand," Lydia remarked.

"I doubt that anything in that dusty old crypt will be too much trouble to us three," Archer said. Lydia looked towards him.

"You're starting to sound a bit cocky," Lydia noted.

"It's not cockiness, it's confidence," Archer said.

"There's a fine line between confidence and overconfidence," Lydia replied. "I'm telling you now, overconfidence has gotten people killed before, and you won't be any different from them in the end if you let it get the best of you."

"You're starting to sound like my mother," Archer stated. Lydia simply shook her head, crossing her arms.

"We should go to sleep," Balamus said. "We'll need to be rested for tomorrow's trip."

"Alright," Archer said. "I'm really debating whether we need a lookout tonight or not."

"Ah, don't bother," Balamus waved dismissively. "The magic'll hold until well into next morning. We're safe here."

Archer nodded. "Okay, I trust you," Archer said.

Balamus went over to his pack to change into his nightclothes, as did Archer. Lydia turned away from both of them to look out towards the expanse of the marsh. It sometimes seemed that Lydia's guard training led to a diluted sense of modesty in the woman, but she seemed to respect other people's privacy at least.

Archer's fingers fumbled along his armor as he struggled to free himself. While he'd had some practice the last few days in taking off his Glass armor, along with knowledge on how the armor was built and put together, it still wasn't an easy task to put the armo on alone. Balamus, on the other hand, had long practice taking off his Ringmail, and his armor had the advantage of being more easy to take off in general, due to the lack of smaller latches and buckles. He was already in his bedroll by the time Archer had gotten off only a few bits of his armor. After a while Archer turned his head towards Lydia.

"Lydia, come over here and help me take off my armor," he called in a hushed tone, hoping not to disturb Balamus. Lydia turned around and obediently walked over to him.

Their hands worked together to find the straps and buckles of his armor, allowing him to finally remove the constricting, protective shell around him. His armor was off in about half the time it would've taken him to do it alone, maybe even sooner, leaving him in the clothes that he wore underneath his armor.

"Thank you, Lydia, I can take it from here," Archer said, carefully pulling the shirt off over his head so as to not tear them with the horns that somewhat inconveniently stuck out the back of his head. Lydia silently turned and walked back to her spot to regard the area around their camp once more. He looked at her back.

"You know, you should try to get some sleep too," Archer said. "Balamus' magic is trustworthy, and I know you're tired."

"My duty is to defend my Thane, and I will not let something as simple as a magical trap take over my duty," she said stiffly. "I don't trust Balamus' magic as well as you do. The only magic I'm partly familiar with is your Restoration magic, and I doubt that Restoration magic makes for an effective deterrent, My Thane."

"I wonder if your mistrust of mages is in your Nordic blood or inherited," Archer remarked. She didn't reply, choosing to keep looking around.

He walked up beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at him. Her eyebrows rose only a modicum at the sight of faint scars on his shirtless abdomen that branched out towards his ribs. She quickly looked back up to Archer's face.

"Come on, Lydia. As much as I trust you, I'd rather have a rested, complacent housecarl in the morning rather than a tired and irritated one," Archer told her. "You need this rest as much as I do."

She looked aside, thinking briefly. After a moment, she said, "Very well, My Thane. Go to sleep so I can change." Archer turned around and walked over to his nightclothes, finally clothing himself properly for sleep. He lay down on his bedroll and shut his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him.

A while later, he heard Lydia's armor behind him clanking slightly as she walked over to her pack to retrieve her nightclothes. He heard her removing the buckles of her armor, and the small clink of metal on stone as she placed the steel armor pieces on the floor.

He suddenly felt an strange urge to crane his head to look behind him. He soon found himself trying to do so, and he stopped himself immediately. He flinched, and quickly laid his head back down on the bedroll, shocked at himself.

What was he doing? Did he really almost turn his head to look at her change? A better question was, why did the feeling come to him so naturally, as if by instinct? Was he really that pathetic, to resort to wanting to look at a _human_? The thoughts nearly frightened him, and he mentally made them shut up before he dug himself into a hole.

He heard Lydia lie down on top of her bedroll and sigh as she rolled over to sleep. A few moments passed, and only the sound of the insects and distant animal sounds were there to comfort him. He hesitated, trying to keep himself from trying to look at Lydia again, but what he passed off as being curiosity quietly won out as he silently turned over to look at his housecarl. She wore some nightclothes on her body, but they weren't very covering, evidence of her high tolerance to cold. She didn't even bother wearing a blanket, out of the humid warmth of the marsh. Her low-cut, short sleeved linen nightshirt exposed part of her well-toned belly, the natural curves of her body, and most of her slightly toned arms to him. She wore some rather short linen sleeping pants as well, exposing her pale, shapely legs and feet to him. Catching himself staring for a longer time than he thought should've been normal, he shut his eyes and turned over in his bed.

Unfortunately for him, since he'd spent such a long time living with humans and around humans, and learning their customs and culture, he'd also gained an understanding of human attractiveness that a normal Argonian shouldn't have had. Even though he still had the natural understanding of Argonian attractiveness naturally imposed on his mind, he could still sometimes tell when an attractive young _human_ lady passed by, even if he didn't even spare them a passing glance, as usually happened. He didn't really mind his _condition_, as he would typically refer to it, but now it was starting to rear its head against his will. More likely than not, though, it'd be a passing moment, and he'd be back to normal again.

He didn't know whether to smirk or frown. Normal was one of the words that would be worst to describe him, he thought. The troubling thoughts in his mind lingered, and he pushed them away, determined to abandon them in a distant recess of his mind. Before long, he felt his mind start to lighten up, and he finally drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

The extra rest they had gotten that night meant that Lydia was in an especially good mood upon waking up. She didn't even chastise her Thane for allowing them to sleep part of the morning as they broke camp. However, she couldn't help but notice how her Thane seemed bent on making sure he kept his distance from her that morning, but she passed it off without putting much thought into it.

When they finally caught sight of Ustengrav, it looked little more than a bump in the middle of the swamp. The grass that had grown along the side of the wall nearly camouflaged the stone amongst the vegetation.

"That's Ustengrav, over there," said Archer. He took a quick glance at his map again; one of the residents of Morthal had been kind enough to point out the general area where the ruins were located on his map. There didn't seem to be any other ruin around here, so it seemed safe to bet that this was where they were supposed to be.

They dismounted their horses, tying them to a nearby tree, and walked towards the ruin. Soon enough, they walked up next to the mound. However, a few people were standing on the other side of the mound, wearing black robes with a faint icon of a skull on it. Upon noticing the new arrivals, they immediately charged up some Destruction spells, firing them at the three.

Archer quickly raised his hand and put up a magical ward, blocking the firebolts that flew at them, but they kept on casting their spells at them. He quickly Shouted at them to stem the hail of Destruction magics that flew from their outstretched hands: _"Fus!"_

The three mages immediately stumbled backwards, giving Balamus and Lydia a chance to fight back. Balamus charged up a Chain Lightning to take them all out, but Lydia was faster to react, shouting a battle cry as she charged sword-first into the fray. The Dunmer settled for casting a Silencing spell at the mages, preventing them from casting any spells of their own. Archer was surprised by Lydia's enthusiasm in battle. Had the mages been given the chance to properly react, they surely would've been shocked at the ecstatic ferocity with which she eagerly fought. As he watched her wipe out all three of the unarmored mages with ease, slashing this way and that at the mages who were not fast enough to pull out their pitiful daggers against her, Archer almost felt sorry for the three brigands who were now taking the full brunt of Lydia's pent-up energy. A couple tried to resurrect the corpse of their fallen comrades to help fight, but Lydia slew the zombie before it had a chance to properly fight back.

After finishing off the last of the necromancers, Lydia looked around and, seeing as how there were no more of them left to fight, lowered her weapon. Turning to them, she gave her Thane an exhilarated smile, who smiled back, impressed.

"Impressive. Of course, you _will_ leave some for us next time, won't you?" Balamus asked, dispelling the magic he had in hand. The whole fight had lasted only a few moments, not long enough to allow the Dunmer and Argonian to assist. Not that she needed any.

"Come on, don't make it into a competition," Archer told him.

"Well come on, then. Let's get inside," Lydia said, motioning for them to come. She briskly strode towards the entrance to the ruin, Archer and Balamus close behind.

The door to Ustengrav creaked open, letting in the morning sun. Archer looked around the room before turning his head to motion the others inside as well. Balamus came in close behind, as did Lydia. The first cavern extended out towards the far end, where a large stone pillar stood in the center. A human shaped figure was standing at the far side of the room.

"Quiet, you guys," Archer hissed lowly. "I see someone at the end of the room."

Balamus immediately crouched low, scanning the room. Lydia did the same, her armor miraculously not making enough noise to draw attention.

The figure at the end of the room suddenly walked over to a stone table with a corpse on top. He powered up and then cast a spell on the corpse, causing it to glow dimly with blue energy, numerous blue specks forming all over its skin, until it finally rose from the table, coming to life.

"More necromancers," Archer surmised, watching the corpse climb off the stone table.

"Ugh, more corpse-humpers," Lydia said, curling her lip in disgust as she shifted the grip on her sword.

"Lydia, you're thinking of Necro_philiacs_," Balamus quickly corrected her, wrinkling his nose in a similarly disgusted fashion. "Necromancers are different, they don't necessarily... you know..."

"Whatever, they still don't look like a good bunch," Lydia pointed out.

"They've probably made their base here," Archer whispered. "It'll be easiest if you just let me take them down quietly," he added, nocking an arrow into his bow. "You two wait here."

Lydia and Balamus stood still, keeping themselves as quiet and unnoticeable as they could while Archer silently walked up to the pillar. The Argonian stood behind the pillar and quickly poked his head out the side, taking aim and loosing an arrow at the lone necromancer's head, instantly killing the mage, along with its newly-resurrected body.

"These guys must be novices, to have raised such a weak zombie," Balamus pointed out.

"How could you tell of his skill in raising bodies?" Lydia asked with suspicion.

"Well, I know strong magic when it's used, and the zombie, when first resurrected, didn't seem very empowered by its summoner's magicka, evident by the weak glow it gave off," Balamus said. "Plus... I may or may not have experimented with raising the dead in the past."

"You were a Necro...mancer?" Lydia asked, slightly shocked.

"No, nothing like that," Balamus said. "Necromancers aren't the only ones who raise bodies, you know. Other kinds of mages do it too, though usually just for battle."

Lydia still gave him a disgusted look, which Balamus ignored. The three made their way through a small stone tunnel, with Archer stopping suddenly at the sight of a dead mage, the dead body of a Draugr right beside it.

"Azura curse you!" shouted an accented voice deeper into the cave, followed by the sounds of Destruction spells being cast. Some guttural voices could be heard as well; the mages were fighting off the crypt's local draugr.

The three ran towards the next room, their weapons out and at the ready. Three mages were firing off their magic, one letting a jet of flame incinerate the draugr in front of her, another summoning a flame atronach to fight alongside him, the daedra immediately confronting the undead creatures with a furious flame attack, and another casting a frostbite spell at the undead. Archer took aim and sent an arrow into the back of the Dunmer mage shooting flames, causing her to stumble forwards, straight into the incoming axe of another draugr. Balamus drove an ice spike through the base of the flame atronach's skull, causing the conjured daedra to fall forwards in a mass of purple sparks, where it would be reborn in Oblivion. Its summoner would not be so lucky, getting stabbed in the back by Lydia's sword.

Two of the draugr took notice of the newcomers and rushed to face them. Archer and Balamus teamed up on one of them, with Archer shooting the draugr in the chest and Balamus finishing it off with a thrust through the stomach, while Lydia easily downed the other draugr with a swift slash to the neck, then another to the head. The third draugr was taken down by the last mage's frost attack. The mage then turned its magic upon them, shooting Lydia with a blast of his blood-freezing frostbite spell. Archer quickly sent an arrow into the mage's left lung, letting Balamus slash his robed chest open.

Archer looked over to Lydia, only to see the Nord nonchalantly brushing the frost off of her steel armor and hair, appearing mostly unaffected by the spell due to her natural resistance to cold.

"That cold resistance comes in handy, doesn't it?" he asked her, feeling just a tinge of envy of her.

"It has its uses," Lydia replied, wiping off some frost from her eyebrows.

The three kept on walking, entering one of the crypt rooms. Only 2 Draugr were there to face them, both of which were easily put down by arrows and magic.

"Are you sure this is the right place? Looks just like any ordinary crypt to me," Balamus said stepping over a dead draugr with a smoking hole burned into its chest.

They walked into the next room, where a large set of steel double doors with carvings on them stood. The carvings were obviously of ancient nordic design, which would lead deeper into the crypt.

"I guess this is where we find out," Archer said. He pushed his way through the double doors.

The other side of the door seemed to be just another ordinary cavern at first. Archer noticed a bright light coming from his right. There was a large hole in the stone wall there, with tendril-like roots covering it like iron bars in a prison cell. Archer looked in awe at the gigantic cavern that lay beyond the hole. The bright light which lit up the entire cavern was emanating from a large crack in the ceiling, making visible the features of the extensive cavern. People said that the stonework in the Ancient Ayleid cities in Cyrodiil were unequalled, but it seemed that the Ancient Nords knew how to build long-standing crypts as well, evident by the yet to-be broken support pillars which still stood, in defiance of the forces of nature.

"By Azura, that's a giant cavern," Balamus said in awe, also observing the large room. "These Nords sure put a lot of work into their crypts."

"Come on, you two, there's no time to be admiring the cavern right now," Lydia said.

The two of them finally looked away and began making their way down the stone path along the side of the rocky wall. They walked through the tunnel, keeping their eyes and ears out for any more draugr. The passage they began walking through got darker, the brilliant light from a few rooms back starting to fade, only mere candlelight replacing it. Archer's eyesight did not falter, however. In fact, the change in light barely seemed to affect his vision. Perhaps this was one of the perks to being a werewolf.

He caught sight of what appeared to be a pressure-plate trap on the floor, and he stopped walking so as to not tread on it. Unfortunately, elves didn't have as good vision as they did hearing, so Balamus unwittingly treaded on the plate. Archer suddenly heard a click, and a jet of flame shot out from what appeared to be a hole in the floor, setting the dunmer on fire.

"_Agh, fire fire fire!"_ the battlemage shouted, casting a quick frost spell on himself that spread throughout his body. The fire was immediately extinguished, leaving Balamus with only a mild burn and some scorch marks on his armor. He let out a relieved sigh.

"Good thing you're resistant to fire," Archer told him. It seemed as if his armor had gotten more burnt than he did.

"Yeah, but it still bloody hurts to get burnt," Balamus replied. He cast a light orb spell and looked to the floor, where the now-visible fire trap stood. "These things are pressure-activated."

"How do they still work?" Archer asked, inspecting the scorch marks on the wall left behind from the large jet of fire.

"Not sure. These Nords must've been crafty," Balamus said.

The three of them managed to jump over the trap with relative ease, and they proceeded onto the next room.

"How old could these ruins be? They seem to be in rather good shape despite their age," Archer observed.

"Probably older than even the Draugr that live here," Lydia remarked, proud of the still-standing legacy that was left of her kind's ancestors.

Almost on cue, a pair of the mentioned undead appeared in the next room, both of them loyally guarding the remains of their undead brethren as they patrolled the halls, or whatever it was they were chosen to protect through their undeath. A swift arrow through the skull quickly made short work of the two.

"It's been easy so far, but I think that we'll be meeting some more resistance later," Archer remarked.

"If we meet some more spiders on the way, you'd better not overreact like you did last time," Balamus warned him.

"What happened last time?" Lydia asked, curious.

"Nothing. Nothing happened," Archer said. He suddenly saw movement in the shadows behind Lydia, and he immediately raised his bow and fired the arrow he had notched.

The draugr growled once as the arrow penetrated its sternum, but it was quickly silenced by Balamus' ice spike penetrating its skull. The draugr dropped backwards without another sound. Looking around again, they made sure nothing else was waiting to surprise them.

"We can't stick around here, we've gotta keep moving," Archer said. The other two nodded to him, and they kept moving forward.

The hallways wound throughout the whole crypt of Ustengrav's depths. Lydia would occasionally turn around and walk backwards to make sure they weren't being followed. Archer's golden eyes flitted from side to side, ready to raise his bow at a moment's notice and let his arrow loose on anything that moved. Balamus walked slightly behind him, his magical light orb following him as he walked, illuminating the passage for them. The random attacks continued for a while, the shadows effectively hiding any undead that wanted to attack. They finally came across the large cavern that they had seen earlier. The light that filtered from the ceiling seemed to tint the entire cavern in a sort of light blue hue.

The sound of an arrow clattering against the stone wall nearby alerted them to the presence of a small squad of skeletal archers. Archer raised his bow and fired an arrow in retaliation. The arrow soared and struck one of the skeletons in the ribcage, knocking the undead backwards, and an ice spike from Balamus finished it off. The other two archers in the distance fought back, loosing their arrows at them as fast as their undead arms could pull the bowstrings back. Their arrows hit with an accuracy that was surprising for something that had only empty eye sockets to aim with, but they glanced off Balamus' armor spell and the angular segments of Archer's glass armor.

Smiling at another opportunity to fight, Lydia charged at the skeletons, putting her steel shield in front of her to block their arrows while Archer and Balamus kept their distance, pelting the skeletal marksmen with arrows and ice spikes from a distance. The skeletons' arrows harmlessly bounced off the steel plating on Lydia's shield, and she felt a couple graze her armor. When she was close enough, she bashed one of the skeletons with the shield, knocking it to one side and decapitating it, the skull rolling off to one side as she turned to quickly face the other skeleton. The second undead had managed to pull out a shortsword and parry her weapon, knocking her weapon back. She feinted to the right and then swung her sword in an overhead slash, chopping a few ribs off before a well-placed slash severed its spine.

There was a bang as she felt an arrow bounce off of her chest plate, and she looked to see a few more skeletons father away, standing up on a higher platform, firing more arrows at her. She raised her shield to block any other incoming projectiles, but Archer and Balamus came in beside her to assist. Balamus rushed forward at the skeletons. An arrow bounced off of his shield spell harmlessly as he continued running after them. The same skeleton fell backwards the next moment, an arrow penetrating its empty eye socket, leaving Balamus to contend with the last skeleton. His longsword parried an incoming axe and then slashed the skeleton's leg off, finishing it off while it was on the floor with a thrust through the skull.

"Alright, looks like that was the last of them," Archer commented.

"I think that's where we go next," Lydia said, pointing to a stone bridge that lay at a short distance. The three walked across the old moss-covered stone bridge, but halfway across, something caught Archer's eye.

"Hey, I think I see another Word Wall down there," Archer said, pointing out the curved wall that would undoubtedly have a new Thu'um to teach him, standing at the bottom of the small crevasse. What it was doing there, Archer didn't know. He looked around for a way to get there, when he spotted a natural ledge that led down towards the strange wall.

"Just wait here," he told Lydia and Balamus. The Argonian walked down the ledge and in front of the Word Wall. As always, he approached the gray wall until the engraved markings started glowing, pushing the knowledge of the new word into his mind. This word was difficult for Archer to describe. It was almost as if he was thrust into a vast expanse, a void, where everything felt faded, yet he himself still felt physical and solid.

_Feim._

The moment passed as soon as it had come, and Archer was left feeling only a little dizzy this time. As few times as he'd been exposed to the Word Walls, he was glad that his body was beginning to become accustomed to the treatment. He walked back up the ramp and walked across the bridge, to where Lydia and Balamus stood. It seemed that they had encountered what looked to be a strange trio of stones arranged in a zig zag pattern on the other side. They all formed a sort of path that led towards a steel metal fence door at the end.

"What's this supposed to be?" Archer asked, inspecting a stone. It was full of strange carvings that ran all around the stone, just like the other two.

"I dunno. Could be anything, really," Balamus replied, observing the stone.

As Archer walked in front of the stone to inspect it further, there was a strange humming sound, and the stone suddenly glowed red. Archer heard the sound of metal scraping coming from behind, and he turned to see that the first of the set of three steel doors that barred their path had sheathed itself into the upper wall. He began to walk towards the door, activating the other stone in his path, but as the second door rose into the wall as well, the first door came back down, blocking him again.

"I think these stones sense your movement, Archer," Balamus said. "Try running through the three."

Archer nodded to the elf, and he walked back to the start. He readied himself, and then dashed forward, running past the three stones. However, just before he got past the first door, it slammed back down into place, causing Archer to nearly crash into it.

"It's no good, I'm not fast enough," Archer said, stepping away from the door.

"Hold on," Lydia said, "What about the other Thu'um that Arngeir taught you? The sprinting one?"

"The Whirlwind Sprint?" Archer asked. "That... might actually work," he stated, "but I'm still reluctant to use it." After Arngeir had taught Archer how to use Whirlwind Sprint, he had not used the Shout once, purely out of fear of accidentally crashing against a wall or tripping over something while sprinting.

"Come on, Archer, trust in your abilities," Lydia said. "You used it on High Hrothgar. What's falling off a mountain compared to slamming into a gate?"

"That's not a very helpful image," Archer replied as walked back into position in between the stones. The Argonian braced himself, silently praying that this would work. He took off running, making it past the three stones. The moment he passed the third stone, he Shouted: _"Wuld!"_

Archer became a blue blur as his Shout pushed him forward with the speed of a tempest wind. He stumbled forward slightly as the Shout suddenly deposited him on ground again, but he kept running until he was past the last door. His presence must've been felt, because the three doors suddenly rose up into their respective slots, allowing Lydia and Balamus unobstructed passage.

"Nice thinking, Lydia," Archer said.

"Any time, My Thane," she replied.

The three made their way through the bleak corridors of the cave. The next room they came across had another fire-pressure trap.

"Wait," Balamus said, putting a hand on Archer's shoulder before he could jump. The battlemage summoned a more powerful magelight spell which illuminated the room more brightly than before. It was then that they saw that the entire floor of the hallway was completely covered in the pressure plate traps.

"How're we supposed to get past this?" Lydia asked. They looked around.

"Well, there's a few mounds of rubble that have no traps on them," Archer said. "Maybe we could jump on them and make our way across?"

"More jumping?" Lydia asked, her shoulders sagging.

"I'm afraid so," Archer said. The Argonian readied himself for a jump, getting a running start before he leapt into the air, landing easily on the trap-free stone. He motioned the others to follow, before jumping onto the next stone in range. The three of them jumped from stone to stone, including Lydia, who had some trouble making the longer jumps due to her heavier armor.

Archer finally jumped out of the trap area and onto the next safe platform. A few moments later, Balamus jumped onto the platform too. He turned around.

"Come on, Lydia! Hurry up back there!" Balamus told her. She grunted as she landed once more on another platform from afar, glaring balefully at him. She stood up normally, waiting a moment to catch her breath, before she got a running start and jumped. This time she didn't make the jump, causing the heavily armored Nord to land directly on one of the plates.

She froze in fear, hearing the two men's audible gasps, waiting for the feeling of having her skin burnt from all sides, but it never came. She looked around, confused.

"Lydia! Are you okay?" she heard Archer ask with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lydia said, looking around. "I think I landed on an inactive trap." Archer sighed in relief; this Nord's luck had just saved her from a painful death.

"Lydia... just stay calm," Balamus said. "Alright, so I noticed that there's a short delay between pushing down on the plate and the fire actually coming out. So what I want you to do is-"

The elf's words were cut off by an angry chittering behind them. The two spun around to meet face-to-face with a trio of large Frostbite spiders. Archer's eyebrows rose in immediate alarm, and he quickly charged up some lightning spells, firing them at the largest spider. Balamus pulled out Hellsting and swung it at another one, managing to chop off one of the arachnid's legs. The other spider took the chance to pounce on the dunmer, knocking him onto the ground. Balamus' hands flew forward and grabbed ahold of the giant fangs that almost sunk themselves into his chest, the spider's venom dripping out of the barbed tips and onto his armor. The poison wouldn't be able to seep through his magical armor, but the fangs would be a different story.

Balamus grunted as he was forced to pit his physical strength against the spider's. He was by no means weak, but the spider had remarkable strength. He glanced to his side to see that Archer was still fending off the other spiders with a mixture of lightning attacks and swings from Frostbite.

Suddenly, there was a battle cry, and Lydia's armored body slammed into the spider's, her sword penetrating deep into its midsection. The spider screeched, skittering backwards away from both of them, and Balamus quickly put his hand forward, sending a jet of fire at the creature as Lydia stepped back. The spider caught fire and quickly died, leaving it as a smoking corpse. Lydia went around the burning body to send her sword into the next spider's head, killing it after a few moments of its struggling.

They heard some squelching sounds as Archer repeatedly raised his war axe and struck the last spider in the head, breaking through the thick chitin armor after several blows. The large spider finally fell dead. Archer heaved a few heavy breaths and backed away from the dead spider quickly.

"Good to see you didn't lose your cool this time," Balamus remarked.

"You're afraid of spiders, Archer?" Lydia asked, amused.

"No, I'm not afraid," Archer defended, "I just really hate them."

"Really? Because that's not how you acted back in Dustman's Crypt," Balamus said. Archer glared at him balefully.

"Tthat was a one time thing," Archer said, walking off to the next hallway.

Balamus and Lydia followed behind him, until they reached a large metal barred door that looked out into what appeared to be the main chamber.

"This looks like the last room, guys," Archer said, pulling down the pull chain at the side to open the door. The door sheathed itself in the upper wall, letting the three pass. The chamber was large, but not nearly as large as the first cavern they'd seen. A single strip of stone acting as a bridge across two bodies of water flanking it led toward the altar in the center of the room.

Archer walked down the steps to the bridge. When he stepped foot upon the bridge, he felt an ominous rumbling. The water began to bubble violently, and something began to rise out of the water. Several things, in fact, began to slowly sprout out of the water, rising well over their heads. They were carved stones, looking much like stylized dragon heads or giant crab pincers. The three of them looked at the carvings in wonder for a moment before they made their way to the stone altar in the center.

Lit candles flanked the ornately carved stone altar. A dragon was carved out of the bottom, and stone heads which looked like dragons' heads were on the corners of the altar. What interested Archer, however, was the clawed hand that rose from the center of the altar. Its grip was circular, as if it was meant to be holding something conical in its unfeeling grasp, but instead, a strange piece of parchment was delicately balanced on the clawed fingers.

"Well... where's the horn? Aren't we here for some horn?" Balamus asked.

"Yeah, we are," Archer said, looking around the altar. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller was nowhere in sight.

"What about the parchment there?" Lydia asked, pointing at the paper where the Horn was apparently supposed to be. Archer went ahead and grabbed the suspicious paper. It didn't look nearly as old as anything else in the crypt, suggesting a recent intrusion by someone other than them.

He opened the seal and began reading. As his eyes went over the words in the page, his expression read confusion, then surprise, as in realization, before his brows set into a scowl.

"I can't believe it!" Archer nearly shouted, "Somebody came in here before us and took the horn!"

"What?" Lydia asked, surprised. "All that work for nothing?"

"Well, that would explain the dead draugr," Balamus commented, looking at the undead corpses that lay behind the altar, in front of their coffins.

"But who could've taken it? Does the note say who took it?" Lydia asked.

"Not really. The paper is just signed, 'a friend'," Archer said.

"Hmph, some friend," Balamus said. "Anything else in that note?" he asked.

"Well, whoever it is wants me to go to Riverwood and rent the attic room of the Sleeping Giant Inn," Archer said.

There was a still silence in the room as Archer reread the note, trying to get any more information out of the parchment. He couldn't believe that after all the work he had gone through to get here, somebody else had beaten him to the punch. He let out a frustrated sigh and put the paper inside his bag.

"So now what?" Balamus asked.

"Now?" Archer asked, a scowl growing on his face. "Let's go get that horn. Possibly knock out a tooth or two in the process. Come on."

**End A/N: While I do like some parts of this chapter, I had a little writer's block in some other parts. But what's important is that it got written, right? I hope you all liked it. So anyways, please leave a review: I greatly value your feedback, as it helps me write better for you all. **


	14. Losing Control

**A/N: Well, I really thought that I'd have a lot more time in the summer to write some more for ToaH, but it seems as if that won't necessarily be the case. My summer's actually getting pretty busy, so updates won't come as fast as you probably hoped (heck, even I was hoping to be able to get out these chapters faster than before). If worst comes to worst, then I'll put this story on a temporary hold to get my own things out of the way faster, but maybe I won't have to do that. I guess it depends on how many people let me know they read my stuff.**

**On another note, I got a nice amount of reviews last chapter, which I was happy about. I just wish that my readers who use guest reader accounts to review would make a real account so that I could properly reply to their reviews. Also, aside from my ever-loyal regular reviewers, I got a couple of new reviewers too, so that's pretty nice. **

**Wolf (Guest Reader): I've planned for this story to end with the ending of the Main Storyline, and the quest lines of Dawnguard and Dragonborn are pretty detailed by themselves, so I don't really have any plan to fit them them into this fic.**

**Miah the Storm Wolf: Thanks, I'm glad you like the personality I gave Lydia. I agree that the developers didn't give very much insight into who Lydia was or what her background was like, so making a story and personality for her was something that I personally had fun doing. It'd be nicer if she had more of an in-game personality, but I guess that's what headcanon is for. :)**

**Keep the reviews coming guys! I want to know if you like what I'm doing in the story or not, and what I could maybe do to make it better!**

"No, no, you're not understanding," Varan told Sofia, one of the new members of Kvatch's Dark Brotherhood sanctuary.

It had been several days since the Dark Brotherhood let its presence be known, and in that time the Brotherhood had managed to find itself with some new trainees. Varan had been one of those chosen to teach the new recruits. Now, he was currently trying to show the young Imperial woman in front of him how to properly use the dagger she'd been equipped with.

"Your inclination is not to try and parry the enemy's weapon, it's too risky and it won't work well with the bigger weapons," Varan instructed, holding up his bokken. "You want to stay just out of their reach, and when they swing their weapon, they'll only hit air, and all you have to do is run in and stab them in their vital points. Come at me again."

The woman wiped some sweat off her brow and lowered herself into a combat position. Varan strafed her for a few steps, watching to see how she reacted, before he lashed out with an overhead cleave. The weapon intentionally hit the air in front of her, as he intended, but she still miscalculated the reach of his weapon, and hopped backwards instead of darting forwards to take advantage once the weapon was no longer a threat. He remained silent and swung again, this time in a backhanded swing, aimed at her neck. To his satisfaction, she ducked under the high swing and dashed forward, putting her dagger at his throat.

"Not bad for a new blood," Varan said. "The first swing wouldn't have hit you, though. Try and study the reach of your enemy's weapon as you face off with him. And remember, while it's necessary for every assassin to know how to fight up-front, know that it's more favorable to execute your target without an up-front fight." He lowered his weapon and gestured for her to rest for a while. The woman nodded, putting away the dagger, her shoulders rising and falling from the exercise. Varan then heard a grunt and a thud as a body fell roughly against the floor.

"No, dammit, you keep messing up!" he heard Han-Zo say. Varan turned his head. The red markings on the Argonian's scaled face accentuated his disapproval as his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at the young Khajiit at his feet. The cat grabbed his wooden weapon from the floor and and stood to face the Argonian once more. Han-Zo didn't raise the wooden sword in his hand, and instead, he threw it aside.

"If you can't even hit me when I'm using a weapon, then I want you to try when I'm not using a weapon. Keep me at a distance, or else I'm going to hurt you," Han-Zo hissed. "Understand?"

The Khajiit hesitantly nodded, and he bent his legs into a combat stance, holding his wooden sword to point at the Argonian in front of him. Han-Zo crouched into a learned combat stance, waiting for him to strike. The Khajiit lashed forwards with an overhead swing, but Han-Zo easily dodged backwards, backing into a wall. The feline followed up with a quick backhanded slash, but Han-Zo rushed forwards and punched him in the stomach as he was winding up for the swing. Han-Zo's fist shot forwards, but the Khajiit ducked to one side, avoiding the jab and circling back to face him. He charged, thrusting forward with the sword, but Han-Zo twisted his body to one side, the blade missing him by inches. The Argonian's hand grabbed the Khajiit's weapon hand as it flew by his face and easily forced the wooden sword out of his hands, tossing it aside. The Khajiit looked helplessly at Han-Zo as the Argonian resumed his combat stance.

"What are you doing, standing there like a frightened kitten? The fight's not over till the opponent falls, so _fight!"_ Han-Zo growled with a scowl. The Khajiit's looked hesitant, looking at the lizard with some fear. However, a determined expression found its way to his face, and his fist flew forwards at the Argonian's face. Han-Zo easily avoided the punch and slashed with his own claws, catching the Khajiit's arm, before he charged forwards, striking the cat in the solar plexus with his elbow, sending the feline into a pained heap on the floor.

The cat hissed in pain, baring razor-sharp teeth as he rolled over onto his stomach, struggling to stand up after having the wind knocked out of him.

"Stop whining and get up, we're not done," Han-Zo said. "The more you bleed in here, the less you bleed out there. Come on."

"Han-Zo," Varan said. His name had been spoken without any implied emotion, without any undertone, but the black-scaled Argonian's head shot towards Varan as if he had just insulted him outright. Varan simply stood on the sidelines, observing Han-Zo with muted contempt.

"I think you're being a bit too harsh on him," Varan chided gently. "You've been training with him for the greater part of this morning, and you expect too much of him. Give him some rest." Varan could feel the worried gaze of the Imperial woman behind him, but he didn't mind it. She had been in the Sanctuary for only a few days now, but even she knew by now how vicious Han-Zo could be.

The other Argonian eyed Varan carefully. "Are you criticizing my teaching methods?" he asked venomously. "I don't know where you got your sudden sense of boldness, but I advise you to shut your trap. I've been teaching this way for years, and I've made only two things with my methods: ruthless killers and corpses. If they can't take the training, there's no way they'll last out there either. Only the strong can survive," he said, before looking down at the Khajiit on the floor with another scowl. He turned on his heel to finally leave the training room, leaving Varan alone with the two recruits. The Khajiit finally stood up shakily, holding his wounded arm with his other hand, and made to leave the room.

"Hold on there. Let me look at that," Varan told him. The Khajiit looked at him and paused for a moment, before he removed the bloody paw away from the cuts. Han-Zo's talons left deep marks in the man's arm, causing blood to silently seep out of the open wounds. He'd need some bandages for sure.

"Go to my room, down the hall over there, and get yourself some bandages for that," Varan said. There weren't many assassins he knew that were adept at Restoration. The common thought was that if you were a good enough assassin, you wouldn't need to learn to heal yourself. Unfortunately, that mindset came with its inconveniences.

"T-this one thanks you, sir," the Khajiit thanked before going to where Varan's room was.

The Argonian heard heavy footsteps from behind him.

"I heard Han-Zo shouting again," Ghamul said as he walked into the room. "Was he wailing on that Khajiit boy again?"

"Ja'Kar is not a boy, he's 22 years old," said Sofia, leaning against the wall.

"Trust me, lady, if you were as old as me, almost anybody's like a kid to you," Ghamul said. Orsimer, like the rest of the elves, could boast an elongated lifespan, and Ghamul was no different.

"He's not teaching him effectively," Varan said. "He's expecting too much out of the students, and he's going too hard on them. Just like in Shadowscale training, when he expected us to learn quickly and with no error. It sickens me to see him push around his _students_." Varan resisted the urge to snarl in contempt.

"Well, he can't be like this to everyone," Sofia said. "I mean, he trained you, right? And you came out fine, so-"

"I wasn't spared from what Han-Zo did to those who are too slow for his liking, either," Varan said. "I was no different. In fact, I think I was pushed around even more by him. He always either trying to drive me into exhaustion, or just make my life plain miserable, but either way, I was always the one who was subjected to the worst of his beatings."

"Is that how you got that scar?" Sofia asked softly. Varan didn't show a hint of emotion, but he did run a hand over the scar on his face.

"Han-Zo said it was just a training accident," Varan told her, but by his tone it was clear that he knew otherwise. "One day, I want to return him the favor. But I shouldn't talk until I can actually do something."

"If you were to try and fight Han-Zo, would you win?" Ghamul asked him suddenly, cocking an eyebrow. Sofia raised her eyebrows, surprised at the boldness of the question.

Varan's face showed a modicum of surprise as well, before his expression went smooth again. It was not a question that he hadn't mused upon before, but he hesitated before giving his answer.

Resentful, he answered, "Believe me, if I could, then I would've killed him long ago. But I know my boundaries, and Han-Zo is beyond my skill."

Varan knew he was a good assassin, and while most of those who knew of his skill would agree that he was worth at least three other good men in a fight, Han-Zo was out of his league. While he may have a younger body and mind, Han-Zo had more experience and wasn't old enough so that his age would be a considerable disadvantage to him. Argonians lived long, longer than most humans, but not nearly as long as elves.

Ghamul snorted. "He's a tough lizard, ain't he?" he said.

"So we can't really do anything about him?" asked Sofia. "Couldn't we appeal to the Speakers? Surely they could kick him out if they wanted to."

"The Speakers seem to not care about Han-Zo's treating the recruits," said Ghamul. "They almost glorify him for being the one who brought them Varan."

"Well... maybe we could-"

"That's enough, Sofia," said Varan, shaking his head. "There's nothing we can do now. The best we can hope for is that he goes easy on the trainees. Let it go."

Sofia didn't open her mouth to speak again, lowering her head in resignation. Varan didn't show it, but he was rather impressed with the Imperial's sagacity. He knew that Sofia's name came from the old Cyrodilic word for Wisdom, and so far, she had proven herself to be rather wise for someone at her youth. Wisdom was often what separated the assassins who could never know their limits, which were the ones who usually got killed in the long run, from those who knew when enough was enough, which were usually the most successful ones. The Khajiit, Ja'Kar, wasn't a bad assassin either. He was deadly with his claws, and he had an unshakeable sense of determination as well, both of which were useful tools for an assassin in the making. Han-Zo was blind to these traits, it was evident in how he taught his students. If only Han-Zo could see in these recruits what he did, maybe he wouldn't be so harsh on them.

"_Shadowscale Varan, hear my words and obey."_

A voice that seemed to resound throughout the entire sanctuary began booming in Varan's head. Varan involuntarily ducked his head at the apparent proximity of the voice. Where had it come from? And why was he being called by name?

He cringed again as the voice spoke once more: "_You are the one to lead our great Family out of the depths of Dark Brotherhood shall be deaf no longer."_

"What is this? Who are you?!" Varan asked, clutching his head. Taking a quick glance at the confused faces around him, he guessed that he was the only one who was hearing these words.

"_I am the patron of your Dark Family. I am the one who has decided your destiny in the Brotherhood since the moment of your birth. I am the one who will place upon you the title which Fate has finally deemed fit to endow. I am the Night Mother."_

Varan's eyes went wide as saucers, and his mouth suddenly felt dryer than normal.

"N-night Mother?" he stammered, his hushed voice containing shock. The others evidently heard him, and their eyes widened considerably as well.

"_There is no time for formalities, Varan. My power is great, but my voice is weaker as you grow the distance between my earthly conduit and your Self." _

"What do you want of me, specter?" Varan asked, trying to keep himself calm.

"_Heed me now, and mark the words I now tell you, the Binding Words, for with them you shall be anointed as my Listener," _said the Night Mother._ "__Darkness rises when silence dies."_

With the last words said, the ominous voice in his head was gone, like a fading puff of smoke in the breeze. He tentatively removed his hands from his ears and regained his composure as quickly as he could, looking around the room with a confused expression.

"What happened Varan? I heard you say, Night Mother?" Sofia asked, putting a hand on Varan's shoulder.

"Night Mother?" Ghamul said. "By Sithis, it's happened... she's appointed you Listener, hasn't she?" he asked.

"Yes... apparently she has," Varan stated, the impact of what had just happened beginning to sink in. The voice in his head had been the Night Mother's. He had just been named Listener by the Night Mother herself.

"You need to tell the Speakers about this, Varan," Sofia urged.

"Come on, let's go," Ghamul said, grabbing the Argonian by the arm and dragging him out to the Speakers' offices. Varan was mostly helpless to resist in the Orc's powerful grip until he finally let him go when they had made it to the door.

"Yes? What is it you need?" Galthor asked as the three walked through his doorway, not looking up from his paperwork. Ghamul nudged Varan to speak. The Argonian hesitated, but spoke up.

"Speaker, when I was in the training room, I heard a voice... in my head," Varan said.

"Congratulations, you're becoming a lunatic," Galthor replied sarcastically, engrossed in his paperwork. "You just need some rest is all. Just go and-"

"It wasn't just any voice, it was the Night Mother's."

The quill froze on the parchment. The wood elf looked up at the Argonian, his hazel eyes scrutinizing the lizard carefully, as if he thought he'd heard something incorrectly.

"The... Night Mother?" Galthor asked. The side door to the room opened to reveal Ri'Dato.

"This one heard the commotion. The Shadowscale has been spoken to by the Night Mother?" asked the Khajiit, turning his head towards Varan.

"Yes, sir," Varan said. "I know it was the Night Mother. I doubt the voices in my head were anything else."

"If you were spoken to by the Night Mother, then tell me what the Binding Words are," Ri'Dato said, crossing his arms. Galthor raised an expectant eyebrow. Varan looked at the two, unsure of what they wanted. He then remembered the words that the Night Mother had told him.

"_Darkness rises... when Silence dies..."_ he recited, just loud enough for the two Speakers to hear. Ri'Dato's eyebrows rose in surprise, as did Galthor's.

"Those are the Binding Words," Galthor said in awe.

"The exact ones," Ri'Dato agreed. A smile which was intended to be warm, but looked more feral than anything on the Khajiit, split his features, and he said, "It seems that we've finally gotten our Listener." There was an almost reverent silence in the room that felt uncomfortable to Varan. He was thankful when Galthor broke it.

"Oh, we've got so much to do, we've got to prepare you, Varan," Galthor said with well-checked excitement.

"Wait, prepare me for what?" Varan asked.

"Well, for your move to Skyrim, of course," Galthor said.

"Skyrim! What would you have me go there for?" Varan asked, surprised. "I mean no disrespect, Speakers, but do remember that I an an Argonian, and that Skyrim is the land of perpetual cold."

"Skyrim is likely not much more different from Bruma," Ri'Dato said dissmissively. "We need you to go join the Skyrim Sanctuary so you can be with the Night Mother. One of our Dark Family from the Cheydinhal sanctuary took the Night Mother's remains from here to what he must've assumed was the last existing safe haven outside of Cyrodiil."

"So that's why she told me her voice was weak," Varan surmised. "But still, it's a harsh, cold land there. I don't work too well in the cold, if you understand, sirs."

"We know about your kind's natural aversion to cold, Varan," Galthor said, "but still, we cannot let the Night Mother's voice go unheard. This is a monumental event in Dark Brotherhood history! The day the Dark Brotherhood began its return to power, with the Listener ending the Silence once more." Galthor's voice became more somber, and he said, "You need to do this, Varan. Your Dark Brothers and Sisters are now counting on you to help bring us out of the Darkness."

Varan looked amongst the two Speakers, and then to his comrades behind him. Ghamul had his arms crossed, and Sofia had that same concerned look that he'd seen her with when she'd witnessed Han-Zo's harshness in training. They didn't really want him to leave, he knew, and he didn't really want to go, either, but there was one rule that all Dark Brothers and Sisters abode: Never refuse orders from a superior.

"Alright, then, when do I depart?" Varan asked unenthusiastically.

"As soon as possible. The sooner you get to Skyrim, the better," Galthor replied.

"I request permission to accompany Varan to Skyrim," came in Ghamul's deep voice. All heads swiveled towards him.

"On what premises?" asked Galthor.

"Skyrim's a real dangerous place, Speakers, much more than Cyrodiil," Ghamul retorted. "It's notorious for being a Bandit Haven, and it's got lotsa vicious animals that I think even Varan will have trouble with. Not ta mention, there's the dragon problem to worry about. If Varan meets one of those things, I doubt he alone will be able to kill it, even with his skill."

Dragons were no longer a rumor in Cyrodiil, for there had been dragon sightings in the northern parts of the province, near Bruma. The dragons evidently preferred not to fly over the Jerall Mountains, but that didn't stop them from crossing the border to terrorize the northern Cyrodilic populace every so often.

The Bosmer seemed to think for a moment, but Ri'Dato spoke first: "This one thinks that they should be allowed to go," said the Khajiit. "The Dragons have, in fact, returned, and this one believes that the two of them would be able to defeat one of these legendary beasts... if, that is, they can be killed."

Galthor looked at him and nodded, before looking back towards Ghamul. "All right, you can accompany Varan on his trip," Galthor told him. Ghamul crossed his arms and nodded once. Varan was silently grateful to have his friend accompany him to Skyrim; the Orc's sheer strength and his ability to summon Kuriyu to fight alongside him when necessary would undoubtedly come in handy if they got into a tight spot.

"I don't imagine they'll be expecting me on such short notice," Varan noted.

"We'll write them a note in advance," Galthor replied. "I'm a bit busy here with paperwork, and Frande's out on his own contract. I imagine that Ri'Dato is busy with his own things as well, but you can tell Han-Zo to write out the letter. I'm sure that the Skyrim branch of the Brotherhood will understand the need for your urgency when you get there."

Varan stiffened at the mention of that name. He thought for a moment, however, and said, "Yes, sir."

"After the letter gets sent, you'll leave in a week for Skyrim. That will be all," Galthor dismissed. Varan nodded once, then turned to leave.

"Well, it seems that we're goin' ta Skyrim," Ghamul commented silently as they made their way back to the training room.

"Yes, that's correct," Varan affirmed. "Though, to be honest, I'm not all too enthusiastic about the trip. It's going to take several days to get from here to Skyrim. I'm not even sure exactly where the Sanctuary is, but I guess Galthor or the others can fill us in later."

"Just be careful 'bout the cold, Brother," Ghamul said. "It's probably the one province where your piss'll freeze mid-stream if you're not careful."

Varan recognized Ghamul's rough attempt at humor, and gave him a smile.

"Thank you, Brother. I'll try and keep that in mind," he chuckled. Ghamul smirked, but his face quickly turned serious again.

"Seriously, though, you wanna take a couple of cloaks and some extra clothes. Skyrim's weather ain't as forgiving as Cyrodiil's, or most other places, fer that matter," Ghamul advised.

"From what I've heard, it's the last place an Argonian would want to be," Varan remarked. "I've heard that the native Nords are generally tolerant of other races... but they won't make them feel welcome."

"Ah, we don't have ta worry 'bout them," Ghamul snorted. "In fact, I think that they should be more afraid of _us_; we're the assassins, aren't we?"

"I suppose," Varan shrugged. "I've got to tell Han-Zo to write the letter now."

"Be seein' ya," Ghamul said, turning to leave.

Varan turned away and made his way to where the irate Argonian had stormed off to. He wasn't sure if he was happy to be the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood or not, even though he should recognize it as a great honor. The news, while tremendously important, did not make him feel happy, sad, angry, or anything, for that matter. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

He was, after all, going to leave behind all his comrades, and go to the one coldest province in Tamriel. Also, he'd have to contend with the dragons in Skyrim. Down in Kvatch, far from the Jeralls up north, he was safe, but once he was on the other side of those mountains, it'd be an entirely different story.

On the other hand, his title of Listener would be the perfect thing to rub in Han-Zo's face, he suddenly thought. He smiled inwardly at the thought of the Argonian's shocked face at hearing the news of his promotion.

He made his way to Han-Zo's room and walked inside. The Argonian was sitting down at a table when Varan came in, reading a book. Han-Zo looked up, and his eyes narrowed by only a fraction at Varan.

"What're you here for?" Han-Zo rasped in a not-so-friendly tone.

"To tell you I've been promoted," Varan said, expressing no emotion whatsoever.

"So what, am I supposed to congratulate you?" Han-Zo snapped. "Get out if you don't have anything to say worth my time." The Argonian's bronze eyes returned to the book in his hands, an annoyed look on his face.

"My, my, aren't we irascible today?" Varan chuckled, leaning against the wall, "No, I don't expect a congratulations, but I do expect you to listen, especially since it was the Night Mother herself who promoted me."

Han-Zo's eyes widened by a modicum in realization, and he slowly turned his head, finally focusing on Varan.

"You're... the Listener...?" he asked hesitantly. His voice revealed a hint of disbelief, and his face expressed the tiniest hints of shock.

"I am, in fact," Varan said, smirking slightly, an expression that would've been the equivalent to a full smile on a human. Though Varan wasn't exactly proud of his title, he did like to have something to shove in the lizard's currently-shocked face. Han-Zo's expression, like most other Argonians, was subtle, but any iota of shock Varan could see in Han-Zo's face was gratifying.

"And you're telling me this because...?" Han-Zo asked finally.

"Well, I'm being sent over to the Skyrim Sanctuary to Listen to the Night Mother," Varan explained, "and the other Speakers want _you_ to write a notice letter to them so that they know to expect me. Get to it." With that, Varan stepped out of the room, leaving Han-Zo to himself.

He wasn't expected to actually leave for Skyrim yet, so he decided that it would be best just to wait for another contract to come by. He wouldn't need to wait long, he knew; ever since Ultim's death, the Dark Brotherhood had gotten ahold of more contracts than before, and the number was rising. It wasn't that big of a change, but it would undoubtedly grow in time. In the meantime, though, there would be nothing to do. He might as well go up to the surface and walk about the city; nobody knew him as an assassin, so he would be safe. Unless, of course, his black armor aroused suspicion; he'd have to change into his casual clothes. Varan made his way to his room to put on some normal clothes before going up to the surface.

* * *

The sun's rays gently shone on Archer, Balamus, and Lydia, pleasantly contrasting against the crisp afternoon breezes that blew past them every so often as they led their horses along the path by their reins, giving the large beasts some relief. Archer's initial fervor to get to Riverwood as soon as possible had died out a while after they first set off from Ustengrav back towards the little town. They took on a more leisurely pace than when they first started, but it would not make much of a difference if they hurried or not at this time of the day. The late afternoon would be giving way to dusk in a couple of hours, but there was still enough light to continue traveling before the shadows became obstructive to their own vision. Three people with their horses would find little practicality in traveling through the wilderness in the middle of the night.

To combat the silence that had settled over them, Balamus spoke up: "Hey Archer, what Destruction element do you think is most effective against a Dragon? Fire, Frost, or Lightning?" he asked.

"Frost," Archer easily replied. "My reasoning is that they're basically gigantic lizards. If I don't like the cold, I don't think they would either."

"But Dragons like to roost in mountains, right?" Balamus asked. "If they were giant lizards, then they'd be sluggish in the cold and avoid it. But they don't."

"It's a fact that reptiles are strongly affected by cold," Archer stated.

A trio of Imperial soldiers suddenly walked by, not paying them any attention as they continued marching down the road, and Archer had to step to one side to let them pass.

"If they're reptiles, then why are they so inclined to rest on mountain tops?" Balamus continued after the distraction had passed. "Maybe they just have scales and look like lizards, but their anatomy could be different, maybe similar to being warm-blooded." Archer put a pensive hand to his chin, thinking for a moment.

The Argonian then shook his head and said, "Bah, why are you asking me these complicated questions? You're the mage here, you figure it out." He dismissively waved the question off.

"Why do you mages always have the innate need to make things more complicated than they have to be?" Lydia asked. "Dragons are lizards, just leave it at that. You don't have to be making such a big deal about it."

Balamus opened his mouth, probably to speak out against Lydia's attitude again, but he was cut off by a discord of ferocious battle cries. Everyone's hands flew to the grips of their weapons, but upon taking a quick glance around they realized they weren't the ones being attacked.

The trio of Imperials that had passed by earlier were now engaged in combat with a small group of Stormcloaks, equal in number to them. One Stormcloak ran at a hesitating Imperial with a greatsword and decapitated the man in one swing. The other two Imperials had fully drawn their weapons and were now fighting side by side, trying to prevent the Stormcloaks from overwhelming either one of them. One of the Stormcloaks came charging in with a polehammer and swung it into one of the light wooden shields. The man cried out as his shield arm buckled under the sheer force of the blow, and a Stormcloak with an axe quickly buried the blade into the legionnaire's neck. The last legionnaire made a desperate attempt to eliminate at least one of the Stormcloaks, successfully managing to slice through the side of a Stormcloak's neck before the polehammer-wielding Nord sent his weapon into the last Imperial's skull.

The last red-garbed soldier fell without a sound, and the remaining Stormcloak soldiers raised their weapons in a cheer. When they were finished, one of the soldiers bent down to his fallen comrade and retrieved his weapon before turning and following his friend down the road.

Balamus scowled in contempt at the retreating forms of the Stormcloaks. "Stormcloaks," he muttered, removing his hand from Hellsting's hilt. "They wanna mess with the Empire's finest? They'll get what's coming to them in time."

"It won't be easy," Lydia suddenly commented. "Some of the Stormcloaks are ex-Legionnaires, you know, and they know the land well. The Imperials should expect a lot of resistance."

"I'm not concerned. This is the Imperial Legion we're talking about," Balamus replied. "The matchup we're talking about is a fighting force that's fought on every corner of the continent against a small group of people in one province who managed to get their hands on weapons. I used to be in the Legion, and I've seen the Legionnaires in action myself. There's not a demon in hell they can't overcome, and there's no way they'd let a few insurgents take over the province."

"Come on, you two, don't start arguing. This isn't even our fight," Archer spoke up, looking at them over his shoulder, "We need to keep moving." He nudged on Glaive's reins and walked forward, letting Balamus and Lydia follow.

"It may not be our fight _now_, but in due time everyone's gonna be taking part in this, whether they want to or not," Balamus remarked.

"That's not entirely true," Lydia countered. "Jarl Balgruuf has proclaimed Whiterun's neutrality, and _he_ has resisted pressures several times from both sides to join the civil war. He's promised to keep us out of the war, and I have faith that that's just what he'll do."

"He can't stay neutral forever," Balamus replied. "Balgruuf's declared Whiterun's neutrality in action, but he can't guarantee Whiterun's neutrality in _thought._ People will choose their sides. It's already happening in Whiterun with the Grey-Manes and the Battle-Borns."

Lydia shrugged. "Say what you want, but this war will be over before it makes it to our doorstep," she asserted.

Balamus crossed his arms. "If the war _does_ come to a head and ends up in Whiterun, I'd hope that your Jarl joins the Empire," he mumbled. "Those Stormcloaks extol honor and freedom, but all they really are is a gang of bigoted thugs."

Lydia suddenly bristled visibly. "Watch your tongue, _mer_," she growled, a resentful undertone lying beneath. "My brother is part of the Stormcloak army. If you say _anything_ about him, I swear to the gods I will beat you so hard your ancestors will cringe, and that's a promise."

Balamus recoiled away from Lydia slightly, taken aback by her sudden animosity. Archer looked over his shoulder and gave her a questioning look.

"Lydia, you support the Stormcloaks?" Archer asked.

Lydia's face smoothened, and she quickly backed down.

"No, I don't, my Thane," she replied simply. She attempted to regain her professional composure, but it was clear that the sudden display of emotion from the normally cool-headed Nord must have been incited by Balamus' comment.

"Really? Because you seemed to take offense at Balamus for insulting them," Archer observed. Archer didn't really care about the civil war, but he was interested in knowing what his Housecarl thought of it.

Lydia looked ahead, puckering her brows slightly in careful thought.

"I have mixed feelings about the Stormcloaks," she finally said. "I don't truly support them. They believe that the Empire is simply a puppet government for the Thalmor, which I also believe they are, to some extent. The Stormcloaks feel that the only way to be free from Imperial rule, and, to a greater extent, Thalmor rule, is to secede from the Empire entirely. Yes, breaking off from the Empire would allow Skyrim to govern itself, but I fear that it would also make Skyrim a prime target for a Thalmor attack. My brother believed that the Stormcloaks had the right idea, though. When he was old enough and when he felt confident that he was Stormcloak material, he left home to join Ulfric's army. I haven't heard much from him... I hope he's alright."

Lydia sighed softly, remaining silent.

"I think that it'd just be best for this stupid war to end soon," Archer grumbled after a few moments. "That way everyone can just go back to their lives and-"

Archer stopped in mid-sentence. He looked to the horizon, curiously scenting the air, detecting something.

"What's the matter?" Lydia asked him.

After taking a few more moments to analyze the new scent, Archer spoke: "Rain," he declared. "A _big_ storm's coming this way. We need to find shelter, and soon."

"How can you tell?" Balamus asked as Archer scoped out the surrounding landscape for a potential shelter.

"I can smell it," Archer replied. Balamus gave him a questioning look.

"Really? How's that?" the Dunmer inquired. The Argonians and Khajiit had more powerful sense of smell than humans or mer, but being able to smell an incoming rainstorm was nothing short of incredible, even for the beast races.

After a few moments, Archer shrugged, and said, "I guess it's the lycanthropy. It must also have some passive effects, even when I'm not in werewolf form."

"Oh, right. I almost forgot you were a mutt," Balamus remarked. The Dunmer had been rather tolerant of Archer's condition since they left for Ustengrav, but sometimes he made no effort to hide his disdain for lycanthropy.

After a few minutes of scanning the horizon, Archer spotted two rocky formations leaning on each other. He had seen such a formation back home in Cyrodiil before, and he knew that the two rocks would form something close to a natural cave that they would be able to use.

He pointed to them. "You see those two rock formations over there?" Archer asked them. Balamus and Lydia turned their heads towards the rocks.

"What about 'em?" Balamus asked.

"There's bound to be a cave. Let's go over there," Archer asked.

"For what?" Balamus asked.

"Well, if there's a storm as big as I think it is coming our way, then we'll need shelter, and that cave will be real handy for keeping dry," Archer responded.

"Excuse me, my Thane, but I would highly suggest finding another cave to use," Lydia came in. "That's Broken Fang Cave, and it's highly notorious for being the site of a Vampire den." The two men looked at her.

"Vampires?" Archer asked, a smile battling with his lips to gain purchase on his face. Her eyebrows rose as she realized that her mention of vampires failed to have the effect on her Thane that she was expecting; instead of being afraid, he was actually becoming _excited_ at the prospect. She had almost forgotten about Archer's adventurous side.

Regardless, Lydia nodded. "Without silver weapons, those things will be hard to kill, and if you let them sink their fangs into you, you'll be bled dry in _moments_," she warned, more urgently this time. "If not, then you get turned into a vampire, and I would much rather _not_ have an undead Thane to look after."

Turning her head to Balamus, she quickly added, "Or an annoying undead mer. He's annoying enough when he's alive, I'd hate to see him as a vampire."

Balamus rolled his eyes. "If you think that I'd let one of those bloodsuckers get within five feet of me, then you've got no idea of how powerful my magic is," the battlemage commented. "Fire's my natural element. They'll be nothing but a pile of ash before they can touch me. Especially if I've got a flame cloak spell on."

"I don't know how strong vampire teeth are," Archer spoke up, "but I'd bet that even they would have a tough time trying to bite through _this,_" he lightly banged on his stronger-than-steel, angular, malachite-forged chest plate.

"Haven't you fought these things before?" Archer added, looking at Lydia.

"Yeah, I've fought my share of undead in the past, vampires included," Lydia replied, "but we were equipped with special silver weapons to do the job. We've only got steel with us."

"I've got Hellsting," Balamus reminded, tapping the longsword's hilt. "This'll burn them to crisps, easy."

"Yeah, but my Thane and I don't have any fire enchanted weapons," Lydia asserted. "My Thane, are you sure you want to do this? Maybe there's another cave nearby we can use instead."

"Come on, Lydia, don't you have any sense of adventure?" Archer asked.

"Sorry, but I'm not exactly the adventuring type that you are," Lydia replied. "Can you just lay off of the adventuring for now, Archer?"

"Sorry, but I can't help myself," Archer chuckled. He pulled Glaive's head towards the formation and began leading the horse off the road, making a straight line towards it. Lydia grudgingly trailed behind, once again wondering what was going on in the lizard's head.

While she enjoyed battle as much as any Nord did, she preferred little excitement when she was trying to get something done. Sometimes she believed that she was more eager to finish this quest than her Thane was. For once, she thought, she decided to trust the Argonian's instincts. She guessed that it was better to try and clear this cave than risk getting hit by a rainstorm anyways; a lot of equipment could soil or become damaged in the rain, including Archer's bow, their only real hunting weapon.

Besides, her own natural curiosity wanted to know what was within the cave.

They neared Broken Fang Cave. The three of them could see that the road they were on went right in front of the mouth of the cave. However, when they got to about a hundred feet from the cave, Glaive suddenly reared his head back and balked, refusing to go further. Chestnut did the same, forcing Balamus to a stop. The riders pulled on their horses' reins to get them to move, but the great beasts stayed put, digging their hooves into the ground.

"The horses won't go any further than this," Archer surmised, his face beginning to contort into a snarl for seemingly no reason.

"Why? What's the matter with them?" Lydia asked from behind, being careful not to get too close to Glaive's rear; the horse suddenly seemed unnaturally skittish.

"They smell the blood, and they're scared," Archer replied, grimacing at the rock formation, scenting the air to confirm the smell of decaying matter.

It was no doubt the horses were reluctant to further advance because of the stench of death in the air. Archer could smell what they smelled too, but it didn't smell like death to him. It smelt of promises of prey.

"Come on," the reptilian said, "we'll be more likely to have the element of surprise on our side without the horses. If there's anything to surprise, that is."

Archer tied Glaive's reins to a nearby tree, and Balamus reluctantly did the same, trusting that the much larger horse would scare off any potential predators and help keep the smaller mare safe. The three of them set off towards the cave anew, the smell of rotting flesh becoming more pronounced with the closing distance. They could now see what it was that spooked the horses: the entrance of the cave was littered with the remnants of what could be equated to a predator's meal.

Blood was spattered all across the floor. A large heap of bloody bones was sitting in a shallow, stagnant pool of sanguine fluids, accumulating flies. A wooden pull cart propped up against the side of one of the two large rocks held a few cast iron pots, along with a few full sacks.

A small mass of insects swarmed away as the three of them neared the bones. They inspected the site with varying levels of intrigue.

"Most of these bones look a lot like a human's," Balamus noted, observing the bloody skeletal remains. There was even one distinctly human skull amongst the bones in the pile.

"They're picked clean, too. Strange for any predator to do," Archer added rather grimly. "It also looks like they've been tossed onto the floor instead of just left over from a carcass. I'd say that this cave's host to a vampire's den."

"Someone doesn't sound very excited anymore," Lydia pointed out. "Rethinking this yet?"

"You do know that I don't care if I get wet or not, right?" Archer asked. "I can walk through the rain with no problem, my scales let me do that. You two, on the other hand, will get drenched, and as far as I know, you warm-bloods find that to be highly uncomfortable."

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him; his tendency to point out the weaknesses of her species annoyed her somewhat, but the lizard had a point. Her steel armor was comfortable enough to be worn into battle, and she was used to wearing it for extended periods of time by now, but it would be a different story if she got caught in the rain.

"Lead on, then, my Thane," she responded, her blade rasping out of its sheath.

Archer nodded, and he pulled out his own bow as he crept inside the mouth of the cave.

Archer's glass armor made little sound as he slipped through the passage entrance. Balamus followed behind, and Lydia brought up the rear. Balamus put a hand on Archer's shoulder, making the Argonian stop. Archer felt a strange sensation coursing through his body, and he looked back at the Dunmer for an explanation.

"Muffle spell," Balamus whispered as quietly as he could. "They've got great hearing. Can't risk getting caught off-guard in their territory."

Archer nodded, and Lydia allowed herself to be Muffled next. The spell was especially potent; her armor made no noise when she shifted her weight. Evidently, even Balamus was nervous.

Archer continued into the cave. The first chamber was lit by a few candles on the wall and a brazier across from them at the far end of the room. Strangely enough, a potted juniper tree was also positioned at the entrance to the first chamber, right next to what appeared to be a discarded ribcage.

_It seems that these things have a strange sense of aesthetics,_ Archer thought to himself.

He perked up as he heard the sound of a distorted feminine voice in the chamber, seemingly amplified by the cave walls: "...Just fed but still hungry... blood... all I can think about these days... last kill was so good... need some more soon..."

For some reason, Archer had to resist the urge to _growl_.

"There's a bloodsucker right up ahead," Archer notified quietly. His companions nodded, gripping their weapons more tightly.

They crept closer forward, and Archer poked his head out as far as he dared risk to scope out the room. A human figure was sitting on a rock beside a lit brazier, down on the lower level, surrounded by old bones. Upon further inspection, he could see a skeleton standing guard on a raised platform in front of a sarcophagus, an old war axe hanging from a leather strip on its pelvis. Additionally, the smell of blood was stronger inside; the scent was wafting from the next chamber, its entrance further away.

Archer nocked an arrow and prepared to fire. He knew that once he made the shot, even the sound of the Vampire dying could alert the entire cave's denizens, not to mention the sounds of clattering bones as the skeleton fell apart. He had to make sure to take down as many as he could before they all came. He was very close to the vampire, and he had to make sure that his arrow found a vital spot. He hoped that he could hit the heart from where he stood. He finally drew the string all the way back, taking a moment to aim before he let the arrow fly.

The Vampire shrieked in pain as the arrow penetrated the back of her head, burying itself into her skull. Archer snarled in frustration at the lack of a quick death, but he immediately loaded another arrow and fired, this time luckily catching the Vampire in the heart, finally silencing the dying creature. Its skeletal minions, however, began to noisily clatter their way towards the three mortals, a second skeleton having revealed itself. Balamus put the first skeleton down with a firebolt, and Archer knocked the other one's head off with an arrow, sending it rolling backwards, across the stone floor.

There were sounds of feet pattering against stone, faster than a human could manage. The smell of blood was getting stronger as the rest of the Vampires neared.

"Here they come, get ready to gut a couple of freakbags," Archer warned, drawing his bow's string back once more. Balamus quickly cast a cocktail of fortification spells upon all of them, evident by the sensations coursing throughout their bodies, before powering up a fire spell in his left hand. Lydia simply gripped her sword's hilt in anticipation.

The Vampires came bolting out of the doorway, three in total, pausing only to locate the threats. Archer used their momentary pause to fire at one of them. The arrow hit one Vampire in the shoulder, causing the creature to snarl in pain and clutch his shoulder. The other two raised their hands and cast a shield spell just as Balamus' fireball blew up the doorway. The undead were left unscathed, and the one that was struck with the arrow simply pulled out the restricting projectile before baring its fangs in anger, like slivers of fine ivory, and dashing towards the three mortals alongside its kin.

Archer quickly Shouted as the dark blurs appeared at the foot of their stairs: "_Fus Ro!"_. The Vampires were thrown back agains the floor, giving Balamus and Lydia a chance to react. The undead had already regained their stances in the short time that the two warriors had reached them.

Balamus shot out flames from his hand as he approached one vampire, which was countered with a powerful shield spell. Lydia raised her shield in time to block the Vampire's incoming mace. Her entire arm jarred as she felt the impact of the flanged head smashing into her shield, but her knees did not buckle. Instead she slashed with her sword, cutting the undead's face open. It wasn't a fatal blow, but the Vampire snarled, before resuming its offensive. Archer, pulling out his sword and axe, was left to contend with the last Vampire.

The vampire held an Ebony dagger in his pale fingers as he swung the small but sharp blade at the Argonian. Archer avoided the attack and retaliated with his own swing, but the Vampire parried the blow with enough strength to jar the Argonian's entire arm, throwing him off-balance for a moment and forcing him to twist his body to force the weapon to bounce off his pauldron and prevent the Vampire from cutting him down that moment. The Vampire swung his blade anew, but Archer managed to knock the weapon away as he regained his stance.

As Archer continued battling with the undead human, it was painfully clear that this Vampire was more than a match for him. In speed they were on par, and Archer was easily able to match the Vampire's strength through his fortification magics, but even magic could not give him the endurance that came with the Vampire's undeath, nor would it last as long. Archer's features contorted into a snarl as he spun to force his opponent's weapon to bounce off his breast plate once more, trying to formulate a plan while at the same time avoiding or deflecting the incoming attacks from the unrelenting creature.

Shouting might also catch Lydia or Balamus in its area of effect, and the Vampires would be more likely to recover quicker than their mortal counterparts. He was using both of his hands for his weapons, and even if he knew how to redirect his magicka through his blades, he still might hit his allies in the close quarters. His options were terribly few in number, but he had to do something.

"It's been a while since I've had a taste of Argonian," the Vampire hissed as he sent another thrust his way. Archer caught the blade on his sword's guard and sent his axe from the other side, but the Vampire ducked under the strike. The Vampire shot up and quickly slashed with his dagger, faster than Archer could react to. The ebony blade easily cut open the side of Archer's face, slicing under his eye and down his snout.

The Argonian hissed in pain, snarling through bloodied gums. The slash wasn't particularly painful or deep, but it did draw blood. The taste of blood began filling his mouth, but instead of sickening him, it only made him angry. More than just making him angry, the taste of his own blood infuriated the Argonian, who began narrowing his eyes at the undead that had caused him to bleed. The Vampire gleefully bared its teeth in a smile laced with malice as it swung once more, the dagger appearing as a sliver of darkness as it streaked towards Archer's jugular, but in a moment of sudden strength, Archer raised his sword and knocked the weapon away.

The Vampire, caught off-guard for only a moment, was not prepared for the startlingly powerful kick that Archer sent his way, sending the undead staggering several feet backwards. Recovering quickly, the Vampire regained its footing and bolted forwards, but before it could recognize the grave mistake, it had impaled itself on Archer's sword. Archer growled in satisfaction as the vampire shrieked in pain, and he quickly pulled out his sword just enough to reposition the blade and sink it back in, this time skewering the creature's unbeating heart.

Gasping in what must've been the most intense battle fury he'd felt up to now, Archer pushed the corpse off his blade. Quickly looking at his comrades, he realized that they were in deep trouble. Balamus was heaving heavy breaths as he and his adversary fought toe to toe, while Lydia raised her shield to prevent the other Vampire's mace from smashing into her skull, her entire shield arm shuddering under the impact. He was tired enough from his fight as it was, but his friends would not be able to hold out much longer either, and he was in little power to help.

The taste of blood in his mouth was almost intoxicating now, and he felt something clouding his mind. Thinking was difficult. His mind recklessly grabbed at the nearest idea he conjured and acted upon it. A deep rumble formed in his chest, coming out as a low growl, and he began to feel strange sensations crawl along his entire body. He was feeling himself lose control. The beast inside of him had finally been awakened.

Lydia heard a growl behind her, a sound that made her blood run cold. She would have suspected it to be Archer's foe, were it not for just how beastly it had sounded, even for a Vampire. She didn't dare turn to face the source of the noise, for her foe was upon her, swinging his mace at her once more. She caught the mace right below the head with her own sword in midair, stopping the attack, and swung her shield at the Vampire with magically-fortified strength, catching the creature in the ribs with a staggering haymaker. The creature snarled and retracted his arm before knocking her weapon away. The sounds of growling and metal clanging behind her grew in intensity. Her foe took a moment to look at the source with intrigue, as did Balamus and his own adversary, so Lydia went ahead and risked a quick glance towards her side.

Archer was bent almost double, his back hunched in a grotesque position. He was growling like an animal, desperately tearing off pieces of his armor with surprising dexterity and flinging them aside without a care. Under his infuriated scowl, she could see glowing golden eyes. Her eyes widened in shocked realization at what was happening to him.

Lydia tore her eyes away from the scene and looked back to her adversary, who had similarly recovered. They once more resumed combat, the Vampire being much more rushed to kill the Nord so that he could focus on the arriving threat. Lydia held her ground valiantly, as did Balamus. The Dunmer lashed out with his longsword at the vampire in front of him, who blocked the blade with his own. The Vampire quickly circled around the ebony blade with his sword, and Balamus did the same, catching his blade in the Vampire's sword guard, before quickly sliding his sword along his enemy's blade and stabbing the undead in the shoulder. The Vampire's papery skin was set ablaze by Hellsting's enchantment, and he hissed as he staggered backward to put out the enchanted fires.

Archer finally managed to pull off the last bit of armor on his body, his boots, before he began growing in bulk. His growls became more feral and deep as he grew out of his clothes, not having able to pull them off in time, and his extending claws helped shred the offending pieces of cloth. He grew fur all over his body and his snout formed itself into a wolflike muzzle, finally completing the transformation.

Archer's golden eyes opened, and the Werewolf furiously glared at the two remaining Vampires. Its upper lip curled up into a snarl, baring canines as long as daggers as it stood up to full height, towering above everyone in the room. The awestruck combatants all paused to regard the gigantic lycanthrope.

"...Well, crap," was all that one Vampire was able to utter before Archer's furious roar drowned his voice out.

The Werewolf rushed right past Lydia and charged into the nearest Vampire, slamming into the undead with all the force of a battering ram. The Vampire was brutally thrown against the wall, cracking or breaking several ribs in the process. The other Vampire slashed Archer's back open, but the Werewolf easily shrugged it off before backhanding the thing with his clawed fist. The Vampire was thrown several feet to one side as well, and Archer pounced on the downed Vampire, viciously sinking its fangs into the undead human.

Lydia and Balamus, looking to the one-sided battle between the werewolf and the two vampires, decided that Archer could easily handle the two undead creatures, and that they would rather not risk getting hit in the crossfire.

It took only a few moments for Archer to tear the two undead into pieces, given the crippling entry blows that Archer had delivered. The werewolf's strength and ferocity amazed the two other living beings in the room.

"Man, Archer tore those guys to bits," Balamus practically marveled.

"Maybe this lycanthropy is more useful than we thought," Lydia commented.

Just as Archer was finishing tearing the last Vampire's torso open, Balamus suddenly tensed as he felt a strange sensation overcome him. A figure appeared at the doorway that led into the second chamber of the cave. In life, he would have been a Dunmer, but in his Vampiric state his skin was a sickly pallor instead, ruby red eyes flashing in anger at the mortals who dared slaughter his kin. By the elegant plate armor he wore, it was obvious that the Vampire was of high stature. He must've heard the commotion and stayed back to put his armor on. His hand, once outstretched as if he was casting a spell, now went back down to his side, next to a silver longsword sheathed at his hip.

"I knew something was wrong when I smelled a _wolf_ in here," snarled the Master Vampire. Hearing the voice, Archer looked up from the bloody mass that used to be a vampire and snarled at the new threat, revealing bloody white fangs.

"I probably should have known better than to let my kin face one alone," he continued. "But no matter. I would rather put you down myself." The Vampire's silver longsword rasped out of his sheath as he got into a combat stance. Archer stood up on two legs and growled a challenge, before charging at the Vampire.

Balamus powered up a Silence spell to fire it at the Vampire, intending to tip the odds in Archer's favor. However, no magic would come to him. Staring at his hand in shock, he tried casting again, but it was no use.

"The bastard Silenced me when I wasn't looking!" Balamus cursed aloud.

As the battle ensued, it seemed that Archer was losing. The Vampire was very strong, though not as strong as Archer in his werewolf form, but it was enough to be able to contend with his much larger foe. He was much smaller, and had the advantage of swiftness and rational thought. He was dancing around in his plate armor as if it were made of leather, keeping frustratingly out of the reach of the Werewolf's long arms.

"Can't you go in there and help him?" Lydia asked the weakened battlemage.

"Are you kidding? I'd get torn apart if I ran in there," Balamus replied, looking on the battle with increasing interest. "If I had my _magic_, I'd be able to Silence the scumbag and he'd be easy pickings for Archer."

Lydia growled in contempt. "We can't just sit here and do _nothing,"_ she hissed. She absolutely hated being on the sidelines in a fight that she thought could intervene in. If she went in there, though, she'd undoubtedly get hurt with how intense the fighting was getting.

Lydia grimaced as the silver longsword cut through the Werewolf's hide once more, inciting another growl of pain from the lycan. The two titans were still virtually untouchable in their battle, a mass of claws and silver swinging in all directions. The Vampire ducked low under a swipe from Archer's claw, but instead of swinging his longsword in an arc, he rushed forward, grabbed his longsword with two hands, and thrust the silver weapon into Archer's shoulder.

The Werewolf howled in pain, being forced backwards and onto the floor. The Vampire took a quick moment to cast a paralysis spell on Archer, maintaining the spell to prevent the Werewolf from hurting him with his flailing claws, before once again pushing into Archer with both hands.

Lydia would stand back no longer, and she decided to abandon her own sense of self preservation to rush to her Thane's aid. Drawing her broadsword, she let out a ferocious battle cry as she charged right behind the creature and ran her blade through the Vampire's back, the sword's edge scraping along the undead's spine as it penetrated his body. The Vampire was unable to knock her weapon away, for he was making use of both of his hands to push his weapon deeper into Archer's shoulder, but the blow wasn't especially damaging to a creature who made little use of its organs.

Turning to face Lydia, the Vampire let go of his weapon and struck out with a clawed hand. Lydia's shield took the impact, but an attempt to strike with her sword led to the Vampire's other hand darting out to grasp the blade in mid-swing, ignoring the pain of his hand being cut open. He wrenched the weapon out of her grasp and swung a fist at her armored stomach, staggering her despite the steel.

Suddenly, a giant paw grabbed the Vampire from behind and held him in its grip, along with a second paw, raising him up high. In the Vampire's temporary distraction, Archer had managed to remove the longsword from his shoulder, and now was staring at the Vampire at an equal eye level. The Vampire struggled in his grip, but the Werewolf was easily able to tear the undead elf's throat open with his jaws.

Once the Vampire's struggles ceased, Archer threw the Vampire's body against the far wall with enough strength to break bones, before he threw his head backwards in a victorious howl. Lydia stepped away from the victorious Argonian and looked behind her to see Balamus standing there, Hellsting hanging by his hand, having been ready to come to her aid; whether it was in case the Vampire overpowered her or to make sure Archer didn't attack her, she wasn't sure. At least she knew she could trust the elf in battle.

Looking back to her Thane, she saw that most of the wounds on her Thane's body were in the process of healing themselves, some of the minor cuts having already faded into fine scars that would become hidden when his scales grew over them. The cuts from the silver longsword were also healing, and Her Thane didn't seem to feel the pain of the wounds. He did look very tired, however, with both of his legs shaking.

The Werewolf stayed in one spot, holding itself up on all four paws, regaining its energy as it panted like a hunting hound, letting his enhanced regeneration heal him. Lydia and Balamus kept their weapons out just in case the Werewolf turned on them; they knew that the Werewolf was their friend, but after seeing what it did to the Vampires, they would take no chances.

Suddenly, the Werewolf tensed, and both raised their weapons, but it became clear that Archer had simply begun to shrink down to his original Argonian size. Sheathing her sword, Lydia ran towards Archer to catch him when he fell backwards. The Argonian was still panting, exhausted from his exertions.

"Archer, are you alright?" Lydia asked him after he had fully transformed back to normal, worrying that he might have overworked his body. Glancing at his torso, she noted with surprise that the cuts were already healed.

"I'm... tired..." Archer panted, putting a hand on his rising and falling chest. He grimaced, and spat, sending a mouthful of scarlet ichor onto the stone floor beside him. Her brow puckered with worry once more.

"But... I'm okay..." he assured in-between breaths. He grimaced, and turned his head to spit out some more Vampire blood onto the stone floor. "Feels like... I fought my way... outta hell."

Balamus sheathed Hellsting and came to his friend's side to looked him over for injury. "Well, at least it doesn't look like you're hurt," the Dunmer observed.

"Yeah, I know," Archer breathed.

Managing to sit in an upright position with Lydia's help, Archer looked over the remnants of his kills. He was shocked to notice the blood-spattered wall and the scattered bits of gore across the floor. He took one glance at what was left of the bodies and immediately regretted it, looking away, managing not to gag again.

"I can't believe I did that..." he mumbled half to himself, a hand on his head. He decided not to mull over his unexpected loss of self-control in favor of checking his injuries to see if any needed more healing.

In the middle of looking himself over, Archer suddenly froze with self-consciousness as he realized the position he was in, and how close Lydia and Balamus were to him.

"Um... guys...? Could you please look away now?" Archer asked awkwardly.

"Why?" Lydia asked, looking down at him, wondering why he sounded so embarrassed. "What's wro-"

She suddenly froze when she _saw_ why he sounded so timid.

Her face began to blush a bright red, and she abruptly stood up, immediately looking away.

"I-I'll start... fetching the horses, My Thane," she said in a wooden tone, unable to hide her embarrassment.

"Yeah, go do that, please," Archer replied, sounding equally embarrassed as he covered himself. Lydia hastily walked out of the cavern entrance, catching Balamus smirking at her out of the corner of her eye before she stepped outside.

"Well, I think she certainly got an eyeful of you," Balamus chuckled, tossing Archer the clothes and turning to give him some privacy.

"Shut up," came the Argonian's reply, but his words lacked any strength. He stood up and pulled the trousers over him first, followed by the shirt.

"So now what?" Balamus asked once Archer was decently dressed.

"Well, what do you think?" Archer asked in return. "Now we... clean up. Somehow."

Balamus snorted. "You made the mess, you should clean it up."

"Unless you want this to take up the rest of the afternoon, then we _all_ have to clean."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Balamus replied, moving to help Archer fix up the cave so they could camp in it.

* * *

The sky rumbled overhead as water poured from the heavens with the fury of a god. Idly watching the rain as it fell from within the safety of the cavern entrance, Lydia could only think of how bad it would have been to have gotten caught in a storm such as this one. She doubted that Glaive and Chestnut, who were now both sleeping next to each other in the cavern, the smaller horse curled up against the much larger one, would have felt any differently.

"I feel bad for anybody trying to walk through this thing," she commented. She looked back at Archer, who was idly putting what was left of their dinner into a bag. "That was a good call you made with the rainstorm, Archer," she said aloud.

"Yeah," was the Argonian's only response. After finishing, he began staring at the fire for no apparent reason, looking deep in thought. Abandoning her spot at the cave's entrance, Lydia decided to go take a seat next to her Thane.

"What's the matter?" she asked, sitting down beside him. Archer didn't even turn his head to look at her.

"Nothing, really," he answered.

"Nobody stares at a fire for no reason, now tell me what you're thinking so much about," Lydia urged.

Now Archer turned his head to look at her. His gaze shifted back to a cobblestone on the floor. "I killed those Vampires," he said, staring at the cobblestone blankly.

"This again? Archer, you need to get used to killing things," Lydia remarked with a hint of exasperation. "Killing's gonna be a big part of your lifestyle, and you can't just-"

"What bothers me wasn't that I killed them, Lydia," Archer responded, now meeting her gaze. "I didn't just kill them, I _mutilated _them. There was practically nothing left! And I didn't even feel a _thing!"_ He sounded both shocked at himself and concerned.

"I don't know what came over me," he continued, "All I can remember was getting cut by that Vampire, tasting blood, getting angry... and then everything after that is a red haze." He sighed, and he looked down, putting his hands on his cross-legged lap with an air of defeat.

"Believe it or not, this isn't the first time I've seen something like this happen to someone," Lydia told him. His head snapped up to look at her, intrigued.

"Really?" he asked.

She nodded. "Granted, he couldn't tear his foes limb from limb like you did," she admitted, "but it sure looked like he felt what you did, and he acted as closely to you as he could have."

"What happened?" Archer asked.

"It's called bloodlust," Lydia replied. "I've seen it in my own comrades back in Whiterun guard. I still remember one guard who succumbed to bloodlust. He was a rather seasoned veteran, and his skill with a sword was well-known amongst his comrades. We were sent to take care of a bandit camp who was known for committing organized raids. When we found them, we engaged in battle, and he got surrounded in the thick of it. Seeing some of his own comrades cut down in the midst of battle, he managed to fall victim to it, the bloodlust. He left gore trailing in his bloody wake, fighting with the vigor of a man possessed. I still remember how he crippled a man's sword arm before sticking him in the chest with his shortsword _five_ times before he finally let go."

"_Five_ times?" Archer asked, shocked. Lydia grimly nodded.

"It was... brutal," she added. "I'd never seen him like that before. I'd seen a couple of other guards, a bit younger than him, who had fallen victim to bloodlust, and they, too, seemed to have an uncontrollable desire for gratuitous violence, when it took them. In the end, though, they were still the same person that I had known. They hadn't changed."

Archer though for a moment, taking in what she had told him.

"Your story about what happened to your comrade sounds a lot like what I went through," Archer said after a few moments, "but I still don't understand. I've never been one to kill for pleasure, or for the sake of killing. You imply that bloodlust is something that happens naturally, but what I felt... _that_ wasn't natural." He paused.

"I'm honestly a bit scared, Lydia," he added. "Nobody except the Vampires got hurt this time, but what about next time? If I lose control like that again, I might end up hurting or even killing you or Balamus!"

Balamus suddenly entered the room, his potion case jingling with newly-filled vials. The Dunmer seemed proud of his potion case.

"Someone's been busy," Lydia noted, looking at the full case. Balamus beamed.

"They've got an Alchemy Table _and_ an Arcane Enchanter in there," Balamus responded. "I've been using the ingredients that I've collected in our travels to make us some new potions."

"So that's why I always saw you trying so hard to catch those Monarch butterflies," Lydia noted with an amused grin.

"They're useful for making health potions," Balamus replied. Lydia arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, good luck getting anybody to drink those now," Lydia scoffed dismissively.

Balamus shook his head and went over to his bag to put his potions away.

"I wouldn't imagine that pretty little head of yours knew anything about Alchemy," Balamus said. "If you need me, I'll be back in the Alchemy Room. Got a couple of new ingredients I'd like to try." From his bag he withdrew a small casket of Dwarven Oil and a small wooden bowlful of Fire Salts that he'd bought from the alchemist in Morthal, before retreating back into the Alchemy lab.

Archer sighed. "I think I know now why I went mad, Lydia," he said softly. "It's the lycanthropy; it wasn't _me_ that wanted the blood, it was the Werewolf."

Lydia looked at him, confused. "Aren't you the one who controls when you... turn or not?" she asked.

"Yes!" Archer exclaimed. "Or, at least, that's what I thought," he continued. "It's just that... things were happening so fast... I couldn't think straight, and things looked bad... and then I don't even know what happened..."

"Archer, calm down," Lydia tried to soothe him. "You're not to blame. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're new to this whole... werewolf business, and your mind just... didn't know how to take it," she reasoned. Archer still looked guilty.

"I always thought that I was in control..." he trailed off, once more looking towards the cobblestones on the floor. "Having just lost it, all so quickly, and so suddenly... the thought of it creeps me out."

"We all have our demons inside of us," she answered. "Yours just happens to be a Werewolf, but that makes no difference. If you can learn to suppress it, or maybe even control it, then you can be the director of your own fate. Don't beat yourself up for not being able to control yourself. Self-discipline is something that comes to you over time, but it's well worth the wait. I'm sure that, with some time and work, you can be as disciplined as me. Heck, probably as much as Commander Caius himself... but hopefully with more personality."

Archer's gaze rose to meet hers anew. He smiled softly, but she wasn't sure whether it was from her attempt at humor or not. The change of expression was nonetheless refreshing for Lydia, who much more appreciated the way a smile looked on Archer's face as opposed to his previous look of gloom.

"You've never talked this way to me, Lydia," he murmured in wonder.

She gave him a shrug, smiling softly. "I'm just here to help you, my Thane," she said. "Even if it means keeping you safe from beating yourself up."

Archer stood up, and Lydia stood up with him. Archer looked at her. He moved a step towards her, hesitantly, before he stepped forwards, closing the distance completely. Lydia widened her eyes at the sudden contact, but she essentially froze. It took her a full moment to realize that he was _embracing her_.

She'd never touched the Argonian before, beside the occasional pat on the back or even a hand on his shoulder. To suddenly have him so close, with his arms wrapped around her in a friendly gesture, meant that she wasn't sure how to react. One thing was for sure, though: she was certain how she would have reacted a few weeks ago, before she began to know Archer.

It probably would have resulted with her fist in his face.

"Thank you... for helping me," Archer whispered behind her.

"Any time... my Thane," she responded. She finally wrapped her own arms around his back, albeit rather awkwardly. She currently still had her armor on, but regardless of the metal shell encasing her body, she could still feel Archer's arms wrapped around her, and she could feel his scales on her arms. The scales weren't bumpy and rough as she'd thought, but smooth and cool. She also knew that Archer had gained muscular bulk during his training, but while the Argonian wasn't as muscular as a Nord, his arms around her felt quite strong. A small blush came to her face, and she quickly willed it to go away, hoping he wouldn't notice.

After what seemed like several minutes, which was actually only a few seconds, Archer let go of his housecarl. He hastily stepped back, putting his arms at his sides. She did the same, but her gaze remained on him, focusing on how much more relieved he seemed now that he had been properly comforted. Well, she could only guess; she still hadn't figured out how to properly read the Argonian's expressions, or, sometimes, the apparent lack thereof.

Her thoughts were cut short as she heard a small explosion, along with a loud curse, making both Archer and Lydia jump. The horses woke up as well, lifting their heads with a start. All of their heads snapped towards the doorway to the Alchemy lab, where smoke was now coming out of the room.

"Balamus?" Archer called out, concerned.

The mentioned Dark elf stumbled out of the doorway, supporting himself on the stone wall, looking much more charred than he did when he first entered.

"What the crap did you do?!" Archer asked him. It sounded as if he didn't know whether to be worried or awed.

"I, um-" Balamus suddenly coughed a few times into his fist, before clearing his throat and standing up straight, regaining his composure.

"I tried mixing in some Dwarven Oil with a few other ingredients," Balamus replied. "Nothing useful came out, and then I tried putting some Fire Salts in it..." the Dunmer trailed off and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

Archer crossed his arms. "I swear, Balamus, if you blew up the beds in there-"

"Don't worry, the beds are all still okay," Balamus said.

"Though, I think I may have broken the, um, Alchemy table..." added the Dunmer.

"Well, so much for doing things in the name of science, hm?" Lydia asked, hands at her hips. "I told you that you'd get yourself in trouble for messing around with those things all the time."

"What even made you think that mixing those two would make something useful?" Archer asked.

"Oh shut up already, both of you," Balamus responded.

"Just go and clean your mess, Balamus," Archer told him, "before the smoke spooks the horses." He nudged his head towards the fidgeting horses to emphasize his point.

"You'll change your tunes when one of my potions ends up saving a life," Balamus grumbled loudly. The Dark Elf turned on his heel and stormed back into the Alchemy lab, presumably to clean up his mess.

"There's no way I'm drinking something with butterfly wings in it," Archer said, just low enough for Lydia to snigger lightly.

"I told you that mages were strange," she chuckled.

Archer nodded, then yawned lightly, stretching his arms behind his back. "Well, as fun as it is to make fun of Balamus behind his back, I think it's about time we head to bed," he yawned tiredly. "We need to make it to Riverwood as soon as we can so that we can finally deliver that Horn."

"You go on ahead, I'll be there in a bit," Lydia said.

"Alright, good night," Archer said, turning to make his way to the bed.

Lydia watched his retreating figure with wonder. The Argonian had always attempted to maintain a stoic demeanor around his comrades, and while she already knew what her Thane was generally like, the sudden show of gratitude genuinely caught her off-guard; the embrace was sincere, if a bit hesitant, but it was enough to let her know just how healing her words were to him. She remembered it again, how he had encircled her with his arms, not holding her too tight, but just tight enough for her to be able to feel him against her...

The earlier image of her Thane suddenly popped back into her mind unnanounced, and she immediately shook it away, shivering. Where had _that_ come from? She shook her head clear of her thoughts, feeling slightly concerned of herself. Yes, the image pestered her, but it was for the wrong reasons, she admitted. It wasn't seeing her Thane unclothed that bothered her.

_Despite not even being human,_ she thought to herself, _some of __his anatomy is surprisingly... human._

* * *

When the three finally arrived at Riverwood, night had begun to fall over the province. A few patrolling guards garbed in standard-issue yellow-clothed Whiterun armor made their way through the small town, nodding a greeting to the three as they made their way towards the Sleeping Giant Inn. Dismounting their horses and tying them to a nearby post, next to another person's large paint horse, they went inside the tavern.

Upon entering the inn, Balamus and Lydia made their way to the bar to order drinks while Archer looked around for the innkeeper. He caught sight of a woman sweeping the floor near the bar, and he reached into his bag to pull out the crumpled note that was left for them at Ustengrav. He reread the paper's instructions quickly. He had to rent the attic room of the inn, probably where this person wanted to speak privately with him. He stuffed the paper back into his pocket and walked towards the woman.

"Good afternoon. What can I do for you?" she asked Archer as he approached her.

"Evening, Miss. I'd like to rent the attic room for the night," Archer said, reaching into his wallet. The woman rose an eyebrow at his remark.

"Attic room?" she asked, sounding more intrigued than confused. "Well... there isn't an attic room," she said. "But I can get you a normal room instead."

Archer tried to raise a single eyebrow, but he wasn't able to manage it, and he ended up raising both. "No attic room?" he asked.

"No, sorry. Is there a problem?" asked the woman.

Archer thought for a moment, but shook his head. "No, a normal room's just fine... And could you include two other rooms for my friends?" he asked.

"Sure. That'll be thirty septims," said the innkeeper. Archer reached into his wallet and handed her a palmful of septims. He muttered a half-hearted 'thank-you' before shuffling off towards the bar next to Balamus, disheartened.

"So how did it go?" Balamus asked.

"There is no attic room," Archer mumbled.

"No attic room...? But then what do we do?" Balamus asked.

"I don't know," Archer said. "Maybe we just need to wait here for him. Or maybe he meant the Bannered Mare in Whiterun, they've got an upstairs room."

"But that's not an attic room, and I'm pretty sure that if they meant the Bannered Mare, they would've written that down instead. It's a bit difficult to get confused between Bannered Mare and Sleeping Giant Inn."

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any ideas," Archer bit back.

"Sheesh, relax." Balamus leaned slightly away from the agitated lizard, who quickly backed down.

Archer didn't want to sound harsh, but the frustration of trying to accomplish this quest for the Greybeards was starting to get to him. It seemed that the elusive horn simply loved slipping through his fingers every time he thought he'd finally have a grip on it. He settled for ordering himself a Honeybrew to wash down his annoyance. He had no intention of getting drunk this time, so he restrained himself from drinking more than he believed he should. He didn't want to add a headache in the morning to his list of troubles.

Some time passed, and the other patrons in the tavern began departing for their homes, or similarly ordering rooms for themselves. Lydia and Balamus had already gone to bed, but the Argonian didn't feel like he wanted to abandon the warmth of the large fire pit just yet, its gentle allure being too seductive for him to leave it.

He heard someone sit on the stool beside him, but he didn't mind the presence until they tapped his shoulder. Archer glanced over his shoulder and saw the innkeeper sitting on the stool.

"So you're the one that the Greybeards think is the Dragonborn," said the innkeeper. Her voice was strangely devoid of any emotion such as excitement, but she still held a lingering undertone of respect.

Archer stared at her for a moment before snorting. "Come on, is it that obvious?" he grumbled as he sipped the last of his mead. He tolerated being called by the title of Dragonborn, but that wasn't what bothered him. He hadn't given any clue to who he was, yet she somehow knew.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked her.

The innkeeper smirked. "Well, word didn't exactly get around here that the Dragonborn was an Argonian," she said. "I'm pretty sure I heard a couple of people the other day arguing over whether the Dragonborn was a Nord with a gigantic hammer or a huge Orc with a mace."

Archer would've laughed outright if he weren't so tired, but he managed an amused grin.

"The note you found in Ustengrav," she continued, "telling you to rent the attic room. Remember that?"

Archer's eyebrows rose in surprise, before going back down. "You...?"

She nodded quickly. "It's not safe to discuss this here. Please, follow me."

She rose from the stool and Archer, hesitating momentarily, got up to follow her into a side room.

"Wait, what's going on?" he asked.

"I'll explain shortly, just please be quiet. And shut the door behind you," said the woman.

Archer, too tired to find the energy to question her immediately, did as she asked, closing the wooden door behind them. He watched as the woman walked over to the large dresser in the corner of the room. She opened it to reveal the wooden interior to him. What he didn't expect to see was the woman pulling out a key and unlocking the wooden panel. The panel was sheathed to one side, and she beckoned Archer inside. He wasn't quite sure what this woman wanted, but evidently she did not want to be disturbed. He walked inside the secret room and she closed the door behind him.

"I'm guessing that you don't plan on being disturbed?" Archer asked as she turned to face him.

"I'm sorry if this inconveniences you, but I needed to speak to you in private," said the woman. "Oh, and I believe this is what you've been looking for."

From the satchel at her hip the woman pulled out the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and handed it to Archer, who simply accepted it with widened eyes. He looked down at the artifact, checking it for any considerable damage, of which he found none.

"So, you wanted to speak to me, and now I'm here," Archer said after a while. "So talk."

The woman crossed her arms. "I didn't put you though all of this on a whim, you know," she explained. "I needed to make sure that this wasn't all some Thalmor trap."

Archer's brows rose. "Thalmor?" he asked. "What... what do they have to do with anything?"

"Probably more than you think," she responded. "Anyways, the point remains that I still don't know if I can trust you. I don't know if you really _are_ Dragonborn, or if you're some lucky impostor."

"Oh, come on, really?" Archer asked in disbelief. "I run across Skyrim and back just for this?"

The woman looked to one side, then said, "Well... I suppose there's some things that I can tell you safely." Thinking for a moment or two longer, she finally told him: "My name is Delphine. I'm part of... an organization that's been waiting for the Dragonborn for a very long time."

Archer looked at her once more. She had mid-length blonde hair, sharp blue eyes like a hawk's, and a voice like a whip. She must've been at least middle-aged, judging by the wrinkles on her face, but there was something about her that made him believe that there was more to this seemingly harmless innkeeper than she let up. What organization would she be part of? And why would she be worried about the Thalmor?

"Very well... Delphine," Archer said, reserving his suspicions for later. "Why are you looking for a Dragonborn anyways?"

"Well, surely, you must've heard of what the Dragonborn is known for, right?" Delphine asked, picking up a book on the table, _The Book of the Dragonborn,_ before setting it back down again.

"Yeah, he can Shout in the Dragon language and absorb Dragon souls, right?" Archer asked, putting the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller into his satchel.

"Very good, that's correct," Delphine replied.

"More importantly, though, the Dragonborn is known for being a master _Dragonslayer_," she added. "The Dragonborn is the only person who can _permanently_ kill a Dragon by devouring its soul."

Archer gave her a curious look. "What do you mean, _permanently_ slay a dragon?" he asked. "As opposed to, what, temporarily killing a dragon? I'm fairly certain that death is permanent."

"Not for Dragons it isn't. At least, not normally," Delphine replied. "Unless the Dragonborn absorbs the Dragon's soul, then the Dragon will come back to life."

Archers brows rose in surprise. "So that means that... they _are_ essentially immortal?"

"If anybody but the Dragonborn kills them, then yes," Delphine affirmed. "That's why I need to know if you really are the Dragonborn."

"I still don't understand why you think the Thalmor are a threat," Archer said. "What does the Dragonborn have to do with Talos worship? That's who the Thalmor are after, right?"

"Talos worshippers aren't the only kinds of people the Thalmor hunt down," Delphine growled. She shut her eyes again, refocusing.

"I'm sorry, but the Thalmor and I are old enemies," she continued, "and if my suspicions are correct, they might have a part in the Dragons' return."

"Wait a minute, what?" Archer asked. "The Thalmor...? Just what exactly do you know about the return of the Dragons?" he asked.

"Dragons aren't just coming back," she explained. "They're coming back to life."

"But, if they're coming _back_ to life, then that means that they've been _dead_ all these years?" Archer asked.

"Yes, they've been dead, killed off by my predecessors long ago," Delphine replied.

"And just what do the Thalmor have to do with this?" Archer asked.

"I can't tell you everything I know just yet," Delphine replied somewhat apologetically, "but something's bringing Dragons back to life, and I need you to help me stop it."

"I'm finding this hard to believe." Archer crossed his arms over his chest. "What makes you think dragons are coming back to life?" he asked.

"I know they are. I've visited their ancient burial mounds, and I found them empty," Delphine retorted. "I've also figured out where the next one will come back to life." She pointed toward a red marking on a small map she had lain out on the table.

"We're going to go to the next burial site where the Dragon will rise," she explained. "There, we kill it, and we see if you truly are Dragonborn. After that, I'll gladly tell you everything I know."

"And how do I know I can trust _you_ then, hm?" Archer asked.

"Only a fool would have walked in here if they didn't trust me," Delphine remarked.

Archer narrowed his eyes at her implication, but he knew she was just being cautious. He still wasn't so sure about her, though. Her paranoia aroused deep suspicion, but he couldn't judge just yet. She suspected that she knew what was bringing Dragons back, and if he could put a stop to it, then he didn't care what this stranger was like; he just wanted to end the Dragon invasion.

"Okay then, where are we off to?" he asked.

Delphine's eyebrows rose. "Really? You're agreeing?" she asked. Evidently, she'd been prepared for a much longer argument.

"Yeah, I'm in," Archer replied. "If there's a way to stop these Dragons once and for all, then I want to be the one to know about it."

For a fleeting moment, a memory of Helgen made itself known: a gigantic, black monstrosity with demonic eyes spewing death from its open maw. Archer shut his eyes and shivered unconsciously.

Delphine ignored the Argonian's behavior and pointed to the red spot on the map. "Kynesgrove," she answered. "It's the next burial site where a Dragon will come back to life. If we can get there before it happens, we can see how they manage to come back to life, and maybe we can learn how to put a stop to it."

"We leave in the morning, then," Archer said, managing to stifle a yawn. "If we go now, I think me and my comrades would end up mauling each other before the hour was out."

"Go, then. The sooner we get to Kynesgrove, the better," Delphine said. "Make sure you close the door on your way back out."

Archer nodded tiredly and turned, back to where his room was. He'd think about how to explain everything to Balamus and Lydia in the morning. He pulled off his armor and climbed into the bed, not caring to put on any nightclothes. It took only a few minutes to succumb to sleep.

* * *

When morning had arrived, Lydia had already been awake, so Archer hastily woke Balamus up to have breakfast, quickly giving both of them a rundown of what he had learned last night before they set off. Delphine had her own horse, the paint horse they'd seen tied to the tree, so they all set off towards Kynesgrove, to the Northeast.

As they traveled North, the air began to get colder. The trees began to whiten as well, until the forests were composed entirely of frosted, snow-coated pine trees. Archer took to wearing extra layers of clothes under his armor, as well as a cloak in an attempt to stave off the cold. Even with his multiple layers of clothing, the Argonian still felt the cold piercing through his furs and armor, and on those parts of his body that remained exposed to the elements, and it only got worse the farther up North they went.

The snowstorms that he'd experienced were nothing at all comparable to the winter chills he'd felt back in Cyrodiil; it made the snowstorms that he'd experienced as a child seem like a simple chilly gust of wind, compared to the maelstroms of ice and frost that Skyrim seemed to throw their way on a whim. He wasn't the only one who felt the cold, though; he had even seen Lydia shivering as well, still feeling the chill regardless of her natural resistance to the cold. He was only grateful that their horses didn't seem to feel fatigued by the cold. The chill didn't appear to be much of an impediment for the animals.

"Just up ahead this road, now," Delphine announced as they crossed the bridge that ran over the White River just outside of Windhelm. "It's a straight shot from here to Kynesgrove now."

"Finally, it's about time," Archer observed as he idly wiped some frost off of Glaive's mane.

"Is the burial mound far from Kynesgrove?" asked Balamus, casting a heating spell on Chestnut to warm her up. The horse snorted gratefully.

"It shouldn't be more than a mile away from the town," Delphine remarked. "It shouldn't be a problem, though. We've made good time."

A while later, snow began to lightly fall, and Archer silently hoped that the weather wouldn't bring more than that. The overhead skies were dark as the clouds dropped snow, later being accompanied by more powerful wind gusts, but Archer managed to ignore it as well as he could, focusing his attention on the road. The snow wasn't that heavy, but the falling precipitation along with the dark skies that brought it made the road ahead more difficult to see.

A human figure came into view, and Archer immediately pulled back sharply on Glaive's reins, making the horse grunt and rear back a bit. Archer looked over his horse to get a look at the person, who stopped just a few yards ahead of them. It was a human woman, and her eyes were widened with pure fright, but that could have been from just having nearly gotten herself run over by a horse.

"No! Get away! It's not safe!" the woman warned as soon as she recovered herself.

"What happened? What's not safe?" Archer asked.

"I-I was on my way to Windhelm to get help, w-we've barely got any town guard to keep us safe," the woman stammered, still frightened.

"What is it?" Archer interjected in a more urgent manner.

The woman paused in surprise, but she quickly regained her senses. "It's a dragon! There's a big, black dragon flying around Kynesgrove!" she nearly cried. "It's just flying around there now, but the whole town is in danger!"

Archer's eyes widened, and he looked towards Delphine. The older woman cursed under her breath.

"Damn it, we might be too late," Delphine cursed. She faced the woman. "Where's the dragon burial mound?" she asked.

The woman looked at Delphine as if she were mad. "W-why would you want-"

"Just tell me!" Delphine growled.

"O-okay! Okay!" the woman nearly cried. "I-it's at the top of the hill next to the town, there's a road leading up to it!"

"Then let's get up there!" Archer growled. "Come on! Double-time!"

The frightened woman on the road stepped out of the way as Archer spurred Glaive to run, with Balamus and Delphine's horses following in his wake. The large beasts weren't bred for speed, except for Chestnut, but the two larger horses could pull off a rather impressive sprint when it was needed.

Halfway towards the little town, they heard the dragon roar, along with the beating of great wings. The roar brought a shiver down Archer's spine unlike any other. He'd heard dragons roar plenty of times before, but this one was distinctly different. He wasn't sure how, but he felt as if he recognized the roar, and the sound of it unnerved him. He shook his fears away and steeled himself as he bolted up the hillside towards Kynesgrove. He'd fought plenty of dragons before. This one would be no different.

In an impressively short amount of time the three had finally managed to make it to Kynesgrove. The village was devoid of any activity. The townspeople had all likely taken refuge inside their wooden huts for safety, which, if the dragon had been attacking, would have likely served as their funeral pyres. Strangely enough, there was suspiciously little activity coming from the dragon, aside from the occasional roar every now and then.

"Wait, the horses; they might get attacked by the dragon," Delphine warned. "We should leave them out of sight before we head up there."

Archer quickly looked around and led Glaive to the side of one of the town's buildings and tied him to it, hoping that the dragon's attention would be focused elsewhere, with Balamus and Delphine following suit.

The road that the woman had mentioned earlier was a pathetic excuse for a road, made of dirt and ill-defined, but nobody felt like they had time to even criticize the local infastructure. They began trekking their way up the hillside, with the incline beginning to even out onto more level ground.

They heard the dragon roar once more, but this time, they actually saw the beast: a great, dark figure with numerous spikes on its body flying through the air with bat-like wings. Seeing the dragon's figure from a distance, Archer suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. He almost could have sworn that he recognized the way the dragon looked, even from how far he was, but he carried on. The Argonian had felt unnerved just by hearing the roar, but now an unshakable sense of foreboding began to overtake him. Something was wrong. Very, _very wrong._

"I've got a bad feeling about this," he said half to himself, swallowing hard. When had his mouth suddenly gotten so dry?

He scanned the skies; the dragon was no longer in sight, but he could still hear its great wings buffeting the air as it propelled its great body through the sky. He calmed down a bit, but kept his guard up. The dragon could literally appear at any moment. Balamus, Delphine, and Lydia had all unsheathed their weapons as they began to crouch walk their way up the hill, nearing the burial mound.

"What the _hell_ is that?" Balamus whispered in shock.

The top of what appeared to be a gigantic column of energies came into their view. Wispy light energies assorted in hundreds of colors seemed to be sprouting from the burial ground itself. It almost resembled a water spout from a geyser, but the feathery tendrils of energy only reached up into the sky, not falling back down like water. In a way, it was reminiscent to how dragon souls looked when Archer absorbed one.

"Looks like a dragon soul," Lydia whispered lowly. None of them wanted to make much noise out of fear of being heard by the dragon, despite the fact that the energy fountain probably made enough noise to drown out their voices. The sounds of the wingbeats suddenly became louder with the decreasing distance. Delphine looked to one side and gasped sharply.

"Look out!" she quietly warned, ducking behind a large rock. Everyone else did the same, just as they heard the dragon roar once more before coming into full view.

The dragon was noticeably larger than any other dragon that any of them had ever seen. Its scales were the color of midnight, and its body was covered in gigantic black spikes. The two black, gnarled horns on its head sprouted out of its head like a dark king's jagged crown. Its face was contorted into a permanent grimace, with some of its teeth sticking out of its closed mouth. The dragon flapped its great wings forward and came to a halt in midair, keeping itself suspended as it inspected the energy fountain with ruby-red eyes.

Archer's eyes went completely wide as he gaped, taking in the sight of the monster.

"N-no... no, I-it can't be!" Archer gasped in a hushed tone. He labored with each breath as even breathing became a challenge for him. His heart thumped in his chest, a great drum that rocked his entire body. His legs quivered under him, feeling like jelly as he took in the ominous sight. Any illusion of confidence that he'd previously felt now began to waver.

Lydia turned her head to look at the Argonian who looked on the verge of hyperventilating. "What's wrong?" she asked firmly. He was looking up at the dragon as if it were Death itself that was hovering above the burial site, and not a creature whose kind he had killed in the past.

"I-it's him... it's him..." Archer whispered, gripping the rock that he was using as cover tightly. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. Lydia gave him a strange look and quickly turned her attention back to the Dragon.

Her blood ran cold when she saw two eyes the color of ichor looking back at her.

"Get down!" Delphine commanded in a hushed order. Lydia and Balamus immediately obliged, ducking down behind the rock, hoping that it didn't see them, but Archer stayed put, frozen to the spot.

"Archer! Get down!" Lydia hissed, but Archer stayed put. He stared up at the dragon, his mouth slightly agape as if the words that had tried to come out of his mouth had instead died in his throat. Everything about the Argonian spoke unparalleled terror. He was basically quivering like a leaf, and his face had lost its dark green shade as he paled. She risked a glance back up at the dragon, who was staring right back at Archer.

The dragon arched its neck back, growling, before extending it, erupting into a loud, thundering roar that roused every single bird out of their trees for miles around.

Then, Archer panicked.

The Argonian screamed in pure terror as he bent himself double, clutching his head over the ears with his hands in an attempt to block out the sound, but the damage had already been done. His eyes were shut as he attempted to back away from everyone, but he tripped and fell backwards, still clutching his head.

"Archer!" Lydia cried in shock, worried for him.

"Archer, get ahold of yourself, man!" Balamus yelled firmly.

"_No! G-get away! Got to... got to get... away! Agh!" _Archer stammered, nearly crying.

Another roar from the dragon invaded the airwaves, and Archer screamed again, clutching his head more tightly. Blood was beginning to seep out of the self-inflicted wounds that he was causing with his claws by gripping his own head so tightly. Seeing how he was unwittingly hurting himself, Lydia ran at Archer and managed to grab his wrists and pry them away from his own head, but then his arms began flailing wildly. She eventually managed to pin his wrists to the ground at either side of his head, holding his lower body down with her legs, resulting in her essentially laying down on top of Archer in an attempt to keep him from hurting himself.

"_Archer!_ Calm yourself!" Lydia yelled at the writhing figure beneath her. Archer's eyes were still shut and his features were contorted into a pained snarl, even as he screamed in terror. What had gotten into him?

"_You are pathetic, mortal. You cower like an infant, yet you dare take for yourself the name of Dovah."_

Balamus and Delphine, the only ones who weren't currently involved in Archer's panic-stricken episode, froze at the voice. They both looked up at the gigantic black dragon who had just spoken to them. Its voice was as deep as it was large, with a haughty and disgusted undertone mixed underneath. The dragon hovering above their heads emit a low, intermittent rumble, highly reminiscent of a human chuckle, a chilling sound. His eyes were closed in apparent pleasure, and if it could manage more control over its own facial muscles, it would likely have been smiling.

"_Perhaps I should just finish you myself now, and save me the trouble of hunting you down in the future," _the dragon rumbled pensively. It then shook its head.

"_Nid, I believe that Sahloknir has been waiting far too long to return to Keizaal. I would not deny him the right to hunt. He will have his first taste of joorre soon enough."_ The dragon turned towards the energy fountain rising from the Dragon burial mound._"Alok, Sahloknir."_

The dragon growled, arching its neck back. _"Slen... Tiid Vo!"_

A small concussion wave flew from the dragon's gaping maw and into the burial mound. There was no impact against the ground, but a deep rumbling from underneath began shaking the area moments later. A large fissure appeared on the site of the burial mound, and the soil began breaking apart, the cracks in the ground becoming larger with each recurring shake of the earth.

At last, whatever was lying underneath the surface finally broke free from its earthen prison, creating a large dust cloud. The creature roared triumphantly as is crawled out of the hole, revealing a large skeletal dragon.

"Gods above, this is worse than I thought," Delphine gasped. Balamus looked on in silent awe and fear, his grip on Hellsting's hilt tightening until his ashen knuckles nearly turned white.

The large dragon flying above gave a roar in greeting, and the skeletal dragon responded with its own vocal salute. In moments, what appeared to be burning cinders in the breeze began to fly towards the skeleton. It was soon evident that the burning bits were actually pieces of flesh, as each fiery piece that attached itself to the dragon began forming its leathery, armored hide.

"_Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"_ the dragon asked, its voice sounding noticeably different from the larger one currently flying overhead.

The dragon's flesh was grown back enough to reveal a grey-white armor plated hide, with sharp black spines sprouting down the length of its back. The two dragons continued their short conversation in their own incomprehensible language.

The larger dragon rumbled with amusement once more. Focusing once more on the mortals, the dragon turned its great head towards them.

"_Sahloknir,"_ it growled,_ "Krii daar joorre."_ None of them knew exactly what the dragon had said, but they all knew an order when they heard one.

As the larger black dragon flew away, the now fully-reborn dragon turned its pale, serpentine head towards Balamus and Delphine, who were in its sight, and narrowed its yellow eyes in contempt at them.

"_My master wishes you dead, joorre,"_ the dragon rumbled, _"and I have no intent to fail him."_

"Bring it on, lizard!" Balamus roared in response, casting a number of powerful Alteration spells on himself. Delphine, apparently somewhat skilled in Alteration as well, did the same. Archer and Lydia may have been preoccupied at the moment, but the battlemage and the Blade held their ground.

As the Dragon took to the skies, roaring its challenge, the same thought crossed both Balamus' and Delphine's minds: It was going to be a hard battle without the Dragonborn.

The entirety of the events that had transpired during Archer's panic meant that the Argonian had been completely oblivious to what was happening. He was too deep into his own self to even care. The roar had shaken him to the very core. It had shattered any sense of courage that he thought he had and ruthlessly crushed it into the ground. There was no denying it. The dragon he saw was the same exact one that had burned down Helgen.

The nearly dormant memory had suddenly burst to life in front of Archer's eyes, every sight, sound, and scent replaying itself as if he were living the moment, and once again, he was powerless to do anything but cower.

He remembered the thick, smoke-laden air. Sulfur and ash rained from the sky. Every breath he took was filled with smoke, threatening to choke him. His eyes had teared up as he tried to make sense of everything, but there was just too much chaos. The sounds of screaming in his head threatened to drive him mad. Dying screams, agonized cries, calls for help, all of them sounded off at one time. The visions of all the dying people he'd seen came back to him, of their broken, shattered bodies laying on the ground, lying in a pool of their own lifeblood, desperately crying for help, crying for mercy. Yet help and mercy would never come.

He was powerless to do anything. He couldn't move, his hands felt frozen, his feet felt self-automated, as if a power beyond his own had taken control of him, as if some higher entity that took amusement in his suffering deemed it fit to control his movement as he walked right past those in his mind who were crying for help, lying down and bleeding. He was helpless to do anything but watch as the carnage unfolded. The screaming in his head reached the height of its crescendo as he felt himself bordering on hysteria, if he had not already fallen into the depths of madness.

Archer heard his name amidst the cacophony blaring in his ears. It was like a call in a howling tempest, almost completely carried away like rushing wind. But it was there. He could hear it now, getting stronger and stronger. He felt like he recognized the voice, so he did his best to hold onto it, the voice calling his name.

_Archer... Archer..._

"Archer! Archer, calm down!" Lydia yelled straight into the petrified Argonian's face.

His cries of fear had died down considerably, as had his reckless thrashing, but he still hadn't come to. He was still shaking his head from side to side, whimpering helplessly, tears rolling down his cheeks. The roar of the dragon as it flew overhead went nearly unheard as the Nord desperately attempted to bring Archer from his panic attack.

"Archer! Come on! We need you!" she shouted, hoping to get a favorable response.

Archer's eyes suddenly snapped open, and he tensed, his chest and neck muscles tightening as he gasped for breath, rapidly blinking the tears out of his eyes. His breathing slowed a bit, and he looked straight into her furious green eyes, tear-stained gold meeting jade.

"Wuh... what happened?" Archer croaked, his throat burning like fire from all the screaming he'd done in the last few fear-stricken moments.

Another roar overhead gave him his answer. Lydia tightened her grip on his wrists, fearing that he'd lose himself again, but Archer remained as he was.

"Are you okay? Can you stand?" Lydia asked quickly, getting off of him.

Archer nodded. "Yeah, I think so," he grunted, making to stand up. Lydia grabbed his arm and helped him stand up, his legs still shaking slightly from the terror-incited adrenaline that he had just lost.

"I don't know if I can fight," Archer admitted weakly.

"Okay, then just... stay here," Lydia responded, laying Archer against the side of the large rock. "Take cover, and try to get back into action as soon as you can," she told him, unsheathing her sword to assist Balamus and Delphine.

"_I am Sahloknir! Hear my Voice and despair!"_ the dragon roared as it sent another fireball at Balamus. The Dunmer cast a powerful Sparks spell, and the fireball exploded upon contact with the lightning magic, before charging up a powerful fireball in his other hand and firing it at the dragon, who just barely managed to avoid getting hit.

"Come on, then! Take your very best shot, I'll send it _right back at ya!"_ Balamus yelled back, powering up a powerful Chain Lightning in both hands to fire at the Dragon. The casted lightning flew at the airborne beast, but it missed. Balamus growled in frustration.

Delphine was running around, firing off Lightning Bolts at the Dragon in a near-constant barrage, several of which struck the beast in mid-flight. The dragon, tiring of this battle, flew in close to touch down on the ground and assault the mortals. Upon making contact with the earth, however, the dragon received a horse-sized fireball to the face. The Dragon growled in pain, but the explosion did not seem seriously injure it. Instead, the Dragon's jaws parted to let loose a powerful gout of flame at the Dunmer who'd fired it, who barely managed to get behind a large rock for cover.

Lydia ran towards the dragon, and the beast turned its head towards her. It snapped its jaws at Lydia, who hopped back and slashed at its snout in retaliation. Delphine and Balamus seemed satisfied with peppering the dragon with Destruction magic, taking care not to inflict damage upon the Nord in melee.

"I can't believe it... what the hell happened to me there?" Archer growled at himself, watching his friends fighting the dragon without him. He had regained some energy, and he seriously felt tempted to go out and fight alongside them, but he knew that he'd only be a hindrance to them, another back to watch, one that wouldn't be able to keep up with the dragon's movements. He once again felt powerless, but he resigned himself to sitting back and watching, favoring his life over his death.

Lydia let out another grunt of effort as she slashed the dragon's tongue open, causing blood to spurt out of its mouth and inciting another growl of pain from the dragon. This dragon must have either felt compelled to defeat the three by close combat or was too weakened to fly, because it did not take to the skies once more. Despite its armor being whittled down by the combined Destruction magics, and despite it losing blood from Lydia's own ferocious melee, it was still more than capable of fighting back, and dancing just out of reach of its jaws and claws was beginning to tire out the steel-clad warrior.

Balamus got a little too close to the dragon's wing, and the beast, noticing this, shot its wing arm out, striking Balamus and sending him backwards onto the floor, his magical armor flashing as it absorbed both impacts. Lydia rushed forward to take advantage, but the dragon had apparently anticipated this and swung its head to meet her. Lydia raised her shield in panic, and the dragon's jaws snapped shut on her shield and arm.

The dragon lifted its head and Lydia high into the air, causing her to drop her sword on the way up. The Nord dangled helplessly from the dragon's jaws, and her face was conveniently positioned right in front of its eye, which was narrowed at her in contempt. The dragon shifted its head one side, preparing to fling her, when she heard Archer Shout.

A powerful blast of flame struck the beast in the chest, causing it to growl and take a step back. Lydia felt the flames also hit her boots, but the metal managed to keep the fire from setting her alight. Archer's Fire Breath Shout, while relatively weak, provided just enough distraction for Lydia to reach for the dagger at her hip with her other hand, pull it out, and stab it directly into the dragon's eye.

Immediately, the dragon shrieked in pain as it became blinded, its opening jaws and allowing Lydia to fall back down to the ground. Lydia grunted with pain as she slammed into the earth, but she managed to roll out of the way of the dragon's incoming wing claw as it slammed into the dirt, intending to skewer her.

From the rear, Delphine fluidly drew her katana, ran up to the Dragon's rear left leg and slashed the back of its calf open, hamstringing it with ease. The Dragon staggered onto one side at the sudden pain, and Lydia, who had managed to recover her broadsword, abandoned her shield temporarily to grab her weapon with two hands and slash open the dragon's right wing arm, staggering it once more. Balamus followed their attack with a powerful fireball to its flank, sending the creature onto one side. Before it could raise its head again, Lydia grabbed her weapon with both hands again and sank her broadsword into the top of the dragon's skull, not managing to break through the skull plate, but pinning it down long enough for Balamus to charge in and thrust Hellsting straight through the creature's eye. The Dragon convulsed once, its upper lip curling into a snarl as it loudly growled in pain before it expired.

Lydia, Balamus, and Delphine all panted with fatigue, withdrawing their weapons and putting them away. They quickly stepped away from the corpse as it caught fire once more, exposing the dragon's soul to the world before it flew straight into Archer, who simply stood in place silently. Delphine's expression flashed with a mixture of shock and disappointment, before it went smooth again. She briskly walked up to Archer to look him over.

"So you really are... the Dragonborn," Delphine said, emotionless.

"Yeah, that's right..." Archer replied, his voice equally bereft of any expression. He still seemed fatigued, but he no longer looked petrified.

Delphine sighed. "I owe you some answers, I guess," she said. "Go ahead and ask; I'm an open book now."

Archer's shoulders sagged. "Delphine... I hope you understand, but... I'm tired now," Archer replied. "Can we take a room at the nearby Inn and save this for morning?" he asked.

Delphine looked at him, but she nodded. "All right. Let's get back to Kynesgrove, and let the people know they're safe for now," she said. Archer nodded silently in agreement, apparently not feeling like speaking.

Delphine walked past him and began making her way down the mountain, with Archer and the others following.

"Hey, Archer," Balamus spoke up from the Argonian's side, "You might wanna heal yourself, mate."

With all excitement and adrenaline that he'd felt now completely gone, Archer finally noticed the stinging pain from the wounds on his head. He gingerly touched them before healing himself, closing the cuts entirely, not even leaving an easily-visible scar.

"Thanks," Archer mumbled as they came into sight of the Braidwood Inn. Everything had gone horribly. He couldn't even look at himself anymore without feeling shame. He'd let his friends down at a time when they'd needed him, and it almost led to Lydia dying. He didn't care if he got a hangover worthy of a god in the morning, he was going to have at least three Honeybrews tonight. He needed something to help him wash down the shame.

**Ending A/N: Here's a reminder for you guys: review. Don't be afraid of making me angry, I want to get a review from you, my readers. Unless it's an outright insult with no iota of helpful criticism at all, I won't get angry, and even then, it'll be difficult, so review. I love reading reviews, and all those praise-filled reviews always make me smile and want to keep writing. If you like this story as much as I like writing it out, then tell me! **

**Have a great summer, guys.**


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